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metalbvcky · 4 years ago

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Back in May, I made my first Stucky Ficrec post and months later, I’ve decided to make another since this fandom is hella talented. There’s a little over two dozen fics down below ranging from 10k-100k+ and everything’s categorized.

Do note that lot of these are Modern AU’s (I love those) and most of them are smutty. (yes hello, an asexual here who enjoys smut so very much) Also heed the tags once you click the link(s). Other than that, enjoy!!!

Key: ♥ = My personal favorites, S = Smut, DS = Dom/Sub

a) CANON UNIVERSE

If You're Reading This, Steve Rogers by fallendarlings Words: 39,273 | Post/Canon Divergence 2012 Avengers/TWS, Recovery, Slow Burn

Nobody tells Steve it's okay to cry.

Nobody touches him.

Nobody remembers Steve Rogers is a person under the mantle. It's okay. He hasn't felt like a person since he watched Bucky fall.

don't threaten me with a good time ♥ by canistakahari - Words 10,106 | Post-TWS, Sick!Fic, Sick!Bucky, Cabin Fic

Steve's taken him on vacation to a cabin in Canada in the middle of winter, so it's obviously the perfect time for his body to go haywire. Bucky is determined to stick it out, though, partly because he's a stubborn bastard, but mostly because he feels some kinda way about Steve.

Higher Ground by EmilianaDarling - Words: 13,002 | Post-TWS, S, DS (undertones), Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

“S’okay,” Bucky murmurs quietly, and Steve sucks in a sharp breath at the brush of Bucky’s lips against his ear, his breath hot against the side of Steve’s neck. There’s a hint of a grin in Bucky’s voice; amused affection and confidence and something heated beneath it all, a familiar tone from so long ago that makes Steve’s heart clench and his cock twitch helplessly in his jeans.

“S’okay, Stevie,” he says again, and Steve can feel the curl of Bucky’s lips against his throat when he smiles. His metal thumb is rubbing circles on Steve’s shoulder. “M’gonna take care of you.”

A year and a half after the events of The Winter Soldier, Steve's been acting recklessly. Bucky deals with it as best he can.

The Simple Life ♥ from The Simple Life Series by howler32557038 - Words: 114,329 (Series Total: 337,273 + ongoing) | Canon Universe, MPreg, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

"The simple life."

"You'll get there one day."

"I don't know. Family, stability...The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago. I think someone else came out."

Bucky wants to be part of Steve's life. He wants to be an Avenger. He wants to be a good partner. Unfortunately, sometimes that means not telling Steve everything.

a road less traveled by Claudia_flies, cyclamental art (cyclamental),maichan, zilia - Words: 75,396 | 2012 Timeline AU, Post-Avengers 2012 (Endgame Divergence), Domestic Avengers, Recovering!Bucky

Steve wakes up on the cold stone floor of the foyer. He scrambles up; there’s glass shards everywhere and they crunch under his gloved hands. People are staring, holding themselves back. They must have seen the fight, must have seen two of him.

His own voice rings in his head.

“Bucky is alive!”

Kept Safe by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 54,419 | S, DS, BDSM

Steve and Bucky are friends. Best Friends. If asked, Bucky would say he knows absolutely everything about Steve. Except when it comes to sex. Steve lives such a monastic existence that Bucky doesn't know if he likes girls, boys, or none of the above. For all he knows, Steve may have no interest in sex whatsoever.

But then a mission goes wrong, Steve is bleeding out from a wound to the femoral artery and Bucky is trying to stop the bleeding when his hand brushes against metal. Where there most definitely shouldn't be metal. Or a padlock. And most definitely not a torturously small cage.

48 hours by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 25,894 | Post-CW, S, DS, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

Steve is keeping it together. No one would say he's keeping it together well, but he's getting by. Mission after mission, he goes back to his apartment in Wakanda and breaks down. Then he watches Bucky sleep and tries to not notice how everyone looks at him like he's the saddest bastard that ever lived.

But, this time is different. This time, Steve goes back to his apartment post-mission and Bucky is awake, out of cryo and making them dinner in Steve's kitchen. The breakdown is still happening. Bucky isn't pleased, but he does have a plan. For 48 hours after every mission, Steve is going to let Bucky take care of him or he's going to be on Steve's next mission. He can't risk losing Bucky again. Which should make the decision simple.

It isn't simple.

The Sex Therapist ♥ by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 179,941 | S, DS, DKink, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve, Current/Past Steve/Sharon

Sharon has given him an ultimatum- either go to sex therapy or it's over. Sex therapy sounds like normal therapy but more humiliating and expensive. It's total BS. He will go because she's making him, but he will also make everyone's lives miserable (Yeah, including his own) and never return again.

Do they have a lot of sex? No. Does Sharon want more sex? Yes. Does Steve do his best? Yeah, actually, he does. He can get it up, he just needs time. Alone. There's... preparation involved. It's not like one just 'is' aroused.

He can't explain it. And he won't. He definitely won't tell Bucky what exactly he thinks about to get worked up enough to screw his girlfriend.

Found My Place in Time - Cap_D, humapuma - Words: 12,492 | Post-EG (Divergence, duh) S, Fluff, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

“Buck,” he heard Steve say, “wake up. We’re here.” Bucky opened his eyes and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension out of his back. When Steve’s words sunk in, though, he turned and leaned forward, staring past Steve’s chest to look out the window. Beyond the wing of the plane, he found a beautiful coastline with white sand, blue waters, and palm trees, as well as rows of bungalows on the water. “Wow,” he murmured. “We’re staying in one of those, right?”

In which Steve invites Bucky on a trip to Fiji and they discover something a lot more than beautiful vistas and friendly locals.

Total Institution ♥ from the Institutions of Love and Incarceration series by thelittlestpurplecat - Words: 94,303 | Canon Universe AU, Prison!AU, Guard!Steve, Prisoner!Bucky, Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, WS Trial

The Winter Soldier has been sentenced to life without parol. His entire world had been condensed to a hot, cramped cell that he hasn't seen the outside of in the four years since his apprehension. It's hell. He has no means of escape, no means of terminating his suffering, and no means of distraction...that is, until he's assigned a new guard. Steve Rogers is assigned the Winter Soldier as his singular charge. He expects a sadistic, violent murderer. What he finds instead is a broken, tormented man with no memory of his past life, and no control over what had been done to him. He's a victim. Not a monster. And Steve won't stand to see him pay for crimes over which he had no control.

Raise Your Glass by minkeys - Words: 10,008 | Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve, Light DS, S, DKink

Bucky knows Steve in ways that his 21st century friends could never even begin to imagine. Or at least, they couldn't until tonight. It's about time somebody corrected all those historians that painted Steve as a straight-laced, God-fearing soldier, and what better way to do it than over a harmless game of "Never Have I Ever." What's the worst that could be said?

b) SHRUNKYCLUNKS

Waking Up Slow ♥ by odetteandodile - Words: 44,638 | Dad!Bucky, Kid!Fic, Hurt/Comfort

In 1945 Steve Rogers crashed the Valkyrie into the Arctic Ocean and was never recovered.

In 2019 Bucky Barnes is walking along the beach below the decommissioned lighthouse where he lives with his sixteen month old daughter when he finds the body of a man washed up in the surf, half frozen but miraculously alive.

Bucky manages to revive him, but finds that the stranger has no memory of who he is or how he got here aside from a name: Steve. Snowed in by a blizzard soon after and unable to get Steve a medevac, Bucky discovers that the funny, good-hearted man slips into the fabric of his and Alice’s life faster than he would have thought possible. The two are undeniably drawn to each other, but as their feelings grow so does the looming possibility that the answer to the question “who is Steve?” might be much more complicated than either of them realized.

Isn't It Ironic? (Don't You Think?) ♥ by HeyBoy, Huntress79, imhereforgaysuperheroes - Words: 33,342 | Jewish, Dad!Bucky, Kid!Fic

Bucky is used to his daughter bursting into tears in the middle of department stores. What he isn't used to is someone braving the wails and actually being able to stop Becca's tantrum in its tracks. Oh, and he's also not used to that someone being Captain America.

AKA, how Steve Rogers calms a screaming kid in Target and falls in love with two more Barneses than he had bargained for.

in my condition love's the best physician by aniloquent - Words: 9,177 | Pharmacy!AU, Russian!Bucky

“This situation is a little more delicate because I don't even know if he speaks English and I'm tired of going down to the pharmacy for constipation medication and allergy pills when I haven't sneezed since 1941.” Steve shouts.

The room falls silent, and he turns back around to find four pairs of stunned eyes watching him.

Tony, as always, speaks first. “He?”

Or the one where Bucky is a hot pharmacist and Steve keeps making up bullshit reasons to go see him.

c) MODERN AU

Home Is Wherever I'm With You ♥ by cydonic - Words: 88,570 | Neighbors!AU, Slow Burn, Parent!Steve, Kid!Fic

This is what happens when you buy a house to flip having only seen the online images: you get more than you bargained for. Bucky Barnes brings all the tools to handle a dilapidated home, but he's hardly prepared for a smart-mouthed child (with poor aim), a crying baby, and the hottest dad he's ever seen in his life living right next door.

That House-Flipper!AU.

if only you could see me (for the pie that i am) ♥ by bitelikefire (theoleo) | Words: 35,121 | Baker!Steve, WeddingPlanner!Bucky

In which Steve is the proud owner of Frost; a semi famous local bakery in D.C. And despite the overwhelming insistence that it’s about time he start dating, Steve swears up and down he isn’t ready for that.

Or as of recently, just doesn’t have the time because of Mr. Barnes. The highly demanding wedding planner on the phone who keeps asking for nearly impossible deliveries and maybe Steve would like to personally strangle him. Maybe.

(There is pie. And misunderstandings. But a lot more desserts and eye rolls.)

So Alive ♥ from the Brooklyn Heights Books Series by GottaSaveBucky (Cosmic_Entity_1of4) - Words: 109,074 (Series Total: 165,440 + ongoing) | Bookstore!AU (sort of), Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky, DKink

A man wearing a light denim jacket over a dark blue shirt came into the shop, a box tucked under his right arm. Despite it being late afternoon, he was wearing sunglasses with bright blue lenses, and his long, dark hair was pulled back in a messy little bun. A few strands had escaped, framing his strong, unshaven jawline. The man looked into the café, smiled widely, and waved in Clint’s direction as he kept walking into the bookstore, and Steve’s mouth went completely dry.

Beautiful, was the only word to describe that smile; straight, white teeth framed by full, lush, red lips, bracketed by laugh lines and an adorable dimple in his right cheek, a charming little chin cleft just visible under the light stubble—Steve was struck literally speechless. And that was before he got a glimpse of the man’s backside. Slim hips and a round, firm-looking ass led to long, lean legs that were encased in snug, dark blue jeans.

“Guh,” Steve said, watching the dark-haired man continue on to the back of the store.

The Penthouse Suite ♥ by elle1991 - Words: 15,873 | S, DS, BSDM, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky, Happy Ending

Bucky Barnes has the chance to earn $5,000 in one night. All he has to do is go to the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel and spend the night with his client, one enigmatic Steve Rogers.

The catch? Steve is a massive pervert, intent on using this one night to satisfy every single one of his many debauched kinks.

Even ignoring the big box of sex toys on the bed, Bucky should have known he was in trouble the moment Steve opened his mouth and said his first words: "My name is Steve Rogers, but you can call me Sir..."

Burnin' For You by GoldBlooded - Words: 15,753 | Firefighter!Steve, Detective!Bucky, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

Steve Rogers is Fire Captain of Brooklyn’s very busy Station 118. He wants three things out of life: People he can count on, for everyone to get through their shifts safe and sound, and for Sergeant James Barnes to get the hell off of his arson scene.

James Barnes is Detective Sergeant of Brooklyn’s very busy 107th Precinct. He wants three things out of life: A decent cup of coffee, good leads to chase, and for Captain Steven Rogers to get the hell off of his arson scene.

Everyone knows to steer clear when these two have to deal with each other. Everyone knows about their mutual dislike and sometimes hatred. But what everyone doesn't know? How they got to be like that in the first place.

Collar Full of Chemistry ♥ from the Rich People Are Wild Series by 2bestfriends - Words: 188,437 (Series Total: 219,519) | Heavy BDSM, DS, S, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

Steve is very rich and desperate to feel in control of his life again after a recent divorce has left him feeling bitter and lonely. When he keeps crossing paths with a disaster twenty-something, an unconventional solution presents itself. Steve's always been one for following his instincts.

Bucky is very broke and can't seem to catch a break, especially after some asshole fires him for one fucking mistake. So of course, it follows that he should sign a contract agreeing to do everything and anything that same asshole wants for a whole year in exchange for a payout that could finally change his life for the better.

Toothpaste Kisses ♥ by buckybees - Words: 18,736 | Dentist!Steve, Patient!Bucky, Amputee!Bucky

Sitting in the horribly antiseptic gateway to hell, otherwise known as the waiting room, Bucky was deeply reassessing his life choices. Maybe if he didn’t eat ice cream for every meal this wouldn’t have happened.

Steve's a dentist, Bucky's a patient. You know the drill.

Out of the Blue ♥ by IsabellaJack - Words: 37,564 | PreSerum!Steve, Detective!Bucky (and Sam!), Mystery!Fic

“Does she have family?” Barnes asks again.

Steve tries to remember. “I don’t know.”

“You sing her praises and don’t know a simple info like that?” Barnes huffs, looking irritated.

Love Is An Ocean Wide by fancyh - Words: 29,009 | Shapeshifter!AU, Orca!Bucky, Marine Biologist!Steve

When marine biologist Steve Rogers helps to rescue an injured orca from the marine traffickers Hydra, he has no idea how his life will change. Once rehabilitated, the orca is released and disappears, and a despondent Steve throws himself into his work, only to feel a spark when a new volunteer arrives, a man with one arm and curiously familiar blue eyes.

Bucky has lived in the ocean his whole life. But when his family is killed and his sister captured by Hydra, he is forced to turn to humans for help. One human in particular intrigues him, a man by the name of Steve. As Bucky comes ashore to search for his sister, he finds himself falling for the man, but dangerous secrets still stand between them.

Includes clueless-about-humans Bucky, heart-eyes-Steve, and lots of Very Important rocks.

Innocent Until ♥ by L1av - Words: 136,866 | Lawyer!Bucky, Defendant!Steve, DS, BDSM, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

Bucky Barnes made a name for himself as the attorney who could get anyone off, but he still lives by the saying, "Innocent until proven guilty." Steve Rogers finds himself on trial for multiple homicides but he swears he was only trying to protect a girl. Bucky's been in this business long enough to know when someone's innocent, and Steve is innocent. Steve already feels like a monster and Bucky's worried this guy's going to lay himself on the sword come his trial. So Bucky offers up another course for punishment:

Turns out, chains and whips really excite Steve.

Brooklyn Syndrome ♥ by lordelannette - Words: 158,350 | DARKFIC, Dark!Steve (VERY DARK, heed the tags, you have been warned) Doctor!Steve, Writer!Bucky, Kidnapping, Slow Burn, Graphic Violence

Bucky's back was pressed against the cold floor and he stared through blurry eyes as Steve stood over him. He was trying to push himself as far away as he could, using his hands and bare feet to slide himself out from between Steve's legs but he couldn't find purchase against the wooden floor. Steve's legs were locked on both sides of his hips and Bucky couldn't move, couldn't get away, and the room was swimming before his eyes and he couldn't focus, couldn't think straight. All he could make out was the hazy figure of Steve towering over him and he lifted his arm to push uselessly at Steve's shin.

"P-please," Bucky whispered. His voice was weak, like him, and his jaw trembled as Steve reached down.

Steve slid down onto the floor and effortlessly gathered him into his strong arms, cradling Bucky to his chest as he leaned against the wall. "Bucky," Steve breathed. One of his large hands slid gently into Bucky's hair, the other curving against his spine and pulling him even closer. "You're mine now, remember?"

Steve's grip tightened then it all went black.

lay me down (tell me i've been found) by coffeeinallcaps - Words: 25,188 | Modern!AU, DS, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

The collar is a little on the heavy side, and incredibly soft against Bucky's skin. Even softer than he thought it would be. It seems to fit snugly, and for a second he feels like he can't breathe. Then, Steve slides two fingers under the collar and runs them along the inside, almost all the way around. Bucky shivers. Goose bumps spread down his back, his arms. "How does it feel?" Steve murmurs, hooking his fingers into the ring and giving a gentle tug on it. Bucky swallows. Nods.

(In which billionaire businessman Steve shows up and turns Bucky's life into an improbable fantasy.)

All Those Things You've Always Pined For by LavenderProse - Words: 92,142 | Family Man (2000) aka the Nicholas Cage movie AU, Domestic, Kid!Fic, PreSerum!Steve

“Steve Rogers. I haven’t thought about him in…God, at least ten years. Probably longer." “Who is he?” Sharon asks, and perches on the corner of his desk, hands folded in her lap. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bucky clears his throat, tosses the sticky note onto the desk. “Steve was…my college boyfriend. We almost got married.”

It's been fifteen years since Bucky Barnes left Steve Rogers standing in a New York airport and never saw him again. Those fifteen years have brought him wealth and stability; everything his lower middle class Brooklyn upbringing had not provided. He is happy. He doesn't want for anything. He doesn't need anything. That's about to change.

Karma's A Fake Orgasm ♥ by daisymondays - Words: 51,637 | College!AU, Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Slow Burn

There’s another abandoned mug, festering with mould in the living room — Steve offically has the world's worst roommates. And complains about them. Often. Bucky, tired of his lack of action, decides it’s time to avenge Steve's sleepless nights and unsanitary conditions once and for all. They’ll pretend to be the world’s most annoying couple: excessive PDA, loud fake sex, and general repugnance. The plan sounds easy enough; it will be strictly platonic. Or will it?

I'll Be Your Shield by 17 pansies (17pansies) - Words: 23,332 | Bodyguard!Steve, Rich!Bucky, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

"If he's just minor nobility, why does he need a bodyguard?" Steve shoved the folder which held Barnes' details towards the middle of the table. "He's not exactly prime kidnap material."

"His parents aren't worried about kidnapping," Fury said. "They need someone to steer him away from the dumb ass situations he keeps getting into."

"You mean he needs a babysitter." Steve sat back and folded his arms. "Seriously."

I think this is a pretty diverse list :) There’s a good sample of everything here, some old fashioned post TWS recovery fics, some good dom steve/bucky, slow burns, fake pretend relationships and so forth!

PS: I’m on AO3 with more bookmarks plus my own hurt/comfort fics if anyone is interested :P

#stucky #stevebucky #bucky barnes x steve rogers #shrunkyclunks #stucky fanfiction #stucky fanfic rec #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction rec #stucky fic #stucky fic rec #modern au #canon divergence #marvel #my reclist #long post for ts

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sungtaro · 3 years ago

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𝐀 (𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆) 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆 ! tagged by : @hallobin thank u iana <3 and @24hoursofdaisy tagged me like . a million years ago afdjkadfn

tagging : @soonwnu @takatamashi @alrightyaphroditie @spookyhyojin @springdqy @slowrabbitpd & anyone else who may want to !

—what day is your birthday? dec 03

—what's your favorite color? pink<3 —what's your lucky number? 3 and all its multiples up to 12! —do you have any pets? 2 dogs —how tall are you? 5' ... munchkin <3

—how many pairs of shoes do you own? i honestly underestimate every time i do something like this ... minimum 15 ... probably more like 20

—favorite song? i can't choose one... i'm always pushing my I LOVE YOU agenda though so . we can say that

—favorite movie? clueless <3

—what would be your ideal partner? i have a hard time answering questions like these bc i feel like . you know when you click with someone but i think most important for where i'm at in life right now is just. i need to be with someone who's a whole person and knows themselves well. i think more than anything else communication is so imperative to me, as is honesty, i just would need to be with someone who is able and willing to bring things up and talk them out openly and without judgement and let me see where they are coming from / be willing to see where i'm coming from to get to an understanding and a solution. other than that, someone to laugh with! good chemistry is important to me.

—do you want children? i do! i really want to be a foster parent and foster to adopt eventually.

—have you gotten in trouble with the law? no haha

—bath or shower? shower

—what color socks are you wearing? black with grey polka dots

��favourite type of music? pop music my beloved and all of its possible crossovers <3

—how many pillows do you sleep with? i have 8 on my bed including decorative ones, but i only use 1 actually under my head.

—what position do you sleep in? usually on my side, sometimes on my back, and i tend to flip around at least once in my sleep. i usually wake up in a different position from where i started. if i'm on my back i usually have an arm over my head too haha.

—what you don’t like when you’re sleeping? i hate being cold omg i cannot sleep when i'm freezing... need allll the blankets on me. but i also hate when it's too hot haha i'd rather have a million blankets and be sleeping in 15 layers than to not be able to sleep with covers because i'm sweating. thanks to years of tour i'm pretty adaptable in terms of light / noise / location though.

—what do you have for breakfast? 2 eggs every day, i change how they're prepared though - usually i have hard boiled on school mornings bc i prep them in advance as i'm up so early. with more time i'll scramble or fry them. i eat them with toast and/or fruit and i neeeed to have a lot of coffee in the morning too.

—have you ever tried archery? i have, at camp!

—favourite fruit? strawberries, cherries, stone fruits of any kind!

—favourite swear word? lol i don't know that i have a favorite. i honestly don't swear much bc i feel like i'm usually in 'professional' mode ... like my most used swear-ish phrase is probably 'what the hell' haha

—do you have any scars? i do

—are you a good liar? omg no ... i'm actually so bad at lying bc you can see everything on my face always

—what’s your personality type? esfp ~

—what’s your favourite type of girl? lol what is this question ... i like all girls. if you're a girl you're my favorite type of girl.

—innie or outie? as in belly button? innie haha

—left- or right-handed? right-handed

—favourite food? honestly it's eggs lol which i hate to say as an answer to questions like this but. it's the one food i can eat every day. that and bread.

—favourite foreign food? i love thai food, esp pad see ew and thai curry !!

—are you clean or messy? i would say i'm not messy. i am organized and keep my space neat, i like to look and feel put-together, honestly even when i'm just staying at home i'll wear matching sweat or activewear sets lol ... but i can get lazy and let things pile up like clothes i need to put away and things like that, but even in those cases it's like neatly contained to one area.

—most used phrase? i say 'but, um' SO much in my regular speech and i've noticed my mom does it too hahaha i wonder who picked it up from who.

—how long does it take for you to get ready? including eating breakfast, from wake up to getting my butt in my car on a school day it takes me about 45 minutes.

—do you talk to yourself? ohhhh yes

—do you sing to yourself? yes hahah

—are you a good singer? i actually took voice lessons for. 8 years? and have a music degree lol so technically speaking. yes but i don't really do it seriously often

—biggest fear? being alone

—are you a gossip? lol no. it actually stresses me out when i hear people gossiping or when they try to engage me in that

—do you like long or short hair? on myself i prefer long hair - i have really thick, wavy hair and it can be really. boxy when it's too short. it's a bit past my shoulders currently and i don't really think it suits me tbh but it is a bit easier to just pull it back and forget about it, which i need for school and clinical at the moment.

—favourite school subject? when i was younger i loved english and music. college 1.0 i really enjoyed psychology and my specialized music business classes. currently, i really enjoy math and all my hands-on nursing classes.

—extrovert or introvert? i'm an extrovert to a painful extent ... i simply wilt without external interactions and processing

—what makes you nervous? starting new things, driving near windmills, people hovering over me lol

—who was your first real crush? that i can recall ? probably one of my friends from high school. we knew each other in middle school but didn't get along, then we got close in hs and would always ride bikes and watch the l word together before either of us knew we were lesbians. i didn't know until years later that i probably had feelings for her.

—how many piercings do you have? 10 -- 4 in one ear, 5 in the other, and my nose.

—how fast can you run? lol no idea

—what colour is your hair? blonde

—what colour are your eyes? blue

—what makes you angry? not much tbh i don't often get angry ... i'm more often irritated than genuinely mad. i think like ... displays of true carelessness / lack of compassion for others angers me.

—do you like your own name? i didn't for a long time, i do now.

—do you want a boy or a girl as a child? i have no preference, and they may not be either, so . whoever they are, i will love them.

—what are your strengths? i think my greatest strength is being solution-oriented, but i am also deeply compassionate and genuinely value people and relationships. i really believe that we are nothing without each other and think connection and understanding are the most important things we can experience with others in life, so i always try to find that and live with that in mind.

—what are your weaknesses? i struggle with feeling stagnant, i easily feel trapped and need change like i need to breathe, which can lead to spurts of recklessness and/or impulsiveness. i hate feeling like someone doesn't like me, even as someone who is pretty objective and is able to separate things / not take them personally, i find it hard not to care when i feel like people read me wrong (and maybe this is a weakness in itself that i feel like most people who really know me would like me lol ... but . i also think that anyone who really knows anyone would like them. so).

—what’s the colour of your bedspread? i have light pink sheets and a white comforter

—colour(s) of your room? it's a very pale blue that i didn't choose on the walls, wood floor, and all the accents in here are light/teal blue, pink, white, wood, or gold.

#thank u iana i rly enjoyed reading your answers as well <3333 #erigames

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dayglovv · 4 years ago

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—𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

Guido Mista x Reader

desc: you’ve been there for Mista for as long as he can remember. that’s just what best friends do. he wants more, but is it worth sacrificing the friendship for his feelings?

wc: 5.5k

a/n: based on the songs Fuck Up The Friendship and Lo Que Tú Me Das! I love the friends to lovers trope, and considering I’ve been wanting to write something super long, this was the perfect opportunity to capture both. likewise, I’ve been a lil sad lately so I hope this cheers you up as it did for me 💕 please enjoy, and if you can, spare a lil extra love!! this bad boy took three days to write.

tags: cunnilingus, fingering, hand job, dirty talk, stretching, premature ejaculation, creampie, minor dom!Reader

tw: not sfw, vomiting, mentions of death and alcohol

HIS MOTHER ALWAYS used to say that burying someone was the living’s way of returning the dead to the Earth. “Back from where they came,” she murmured. “Two meters deep — enough to have the soil hug you.”

He first heard it when his nonno died 11 years ago, and again when Nonna died two years later. To be honest, Guido Mista never understood what his mother was talking about.

Not until he met you.

You were a storm in the simple life that Mista had so carefully crafted. So full of energy, so full of life. You forced him to feel alive. Your laugh sounded like a million bells chiming in his head. Your ideas, for as dumb as they were, always matched his pace.

For as chaotic as you were, it felt as if you had always meant to be a part of his life. Which is why he’s in the midst of dragging you back to his apartment.

“You didn’t have to come to pick me up, yanno,” you slur, the stinging smell of alcohol laced between your words.

“Yeah, I know.” Fuck, when did you get so heavy? He once read that babies can make themselves heavier when they’re having a tantrum, and honestly, that fits at the moment. “But Trish can’t carry you herself, so. Just shut up.”

Trish’s text came about an hour ago.

Trish hey [Name] drank a little too much and I need help :( can you pick us up? ill pay for gas

Needless to say, Mista was out the door 55 minutes ago. He made it to the bar 30 minutes ago. 20 minutes ago did he drop off Trish. And finally, after force-feeding you water and dabbing the sweat from your forehead, he finally made it home with your arm around his shoulders.

You’re wearing the perfume that he bought you for your birthday. Spicy yet warm, something he found so perfect for you the moment he found it. He can remember how wide your eyes opened the moment you saw it, how you threw your arms around him and thanked him over and over again for such a thoughtful gift. He’s happy that you’re wearing it now. But that doesn’t negate how fucking pissed he is at the moment.

That smell permeates his nostrils as he frantically searches for the keys in his pockets. The loud jangling and your heels would surely wake his landlord on the floor below. Mista clicks his tongue at the thought of another scolding — and because of you, goddammit — but he tries to push the idea out of his head. The last thing he needs is another headache.

His front door creaks open, but with a swift kick, he shuts it back close. It slams within its hinges, causing you both to flinch. Shit. Okay, yeah, he’s definitely going to get a scolding in the morning. Though that’s not his priority at the moment.

Mista sits you at his kitchen table. You’re still swaying, even in the chair, but he’s glad that you’re at least conscious. He removes your shoes from your feet, and taking a napkin from the table, he dabs that last bit of sweat from your forehead.

“You’re really stupid, you know that?” Thankfully, you’re functioning, too. That’s why he’s being so mean. Partly because yes, he’s pissed, but also to get it through your thick skull. “Do you even know what time it is?”

“Midnight thirty,” you mumble. “It’s not even that late. You’re just old.”

Mista doesn’t even grace you with a response. He simply heaves a long sigh, then fills a glass of water for you. The water finds itself in front of you, with the gunslinger taking the seat beside you.

But before you can drink it, your hand flies to your mouth, your feet rushing you to Mista’s sink.

He only sighs again.

Nonetheless, he stands up from his seat, following you to the sink. His fingers comb through your hair, pulling strands away from your sweat-soaked face. Your hair bunches together into a ponytail held only by his fist, his other hand running along your back. The warm smell of your perfume is replaced by the foul smell of stomach acid and overpriced mixed drinks.

Christ. Even when you’re vomiting in his sink, you’re beautiful.

...

Wait.

Ew, what the fuck, Mista? Don’t be weird. You’re his best friend! The gunslinger mentally slaps himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

It is true to an extent, though. Even when you’re messy and being so stupidly difficult, he can’t help but be in love with you. He knew that loving you would be difficult. He’s always known. You’re a tempest in his neatly-organized, simple life. Accepting you would make that life so much more complicated.

He’s never been good with words, but with you, he feels as though he’s being buried. Even though it’s suffocating and it’s dark and it’s scary, it’s where he’s always meant to be. Returning to the Earth as his mom used to say. Right with you.

You’ve always been there for him.

Like when Nonna died. He can remember feeling you entwine your fingers with his as they lowered her casket. It wasn’t raining, but it sure felt like it. His tears wouldn’t stop coming. His nose wouldn’t stop running. And for as pathetic as he looked, you refused to leave his side.

And at the end of the day, you gave him the most bone-crushingly tight hug he had ever had in his life. When he asked what your deal was, you only smiled and cupped his cheeks between your soft, little hands.

“To squeeze all the sad out, dummy!”

The least he could do is be there for you, too.

Your drawn-out exhale brings Mista out of his thoughts. You sit up from the sink, your hands gripping its steel rim. You’re okay now, mostly sober. He’s seen you drunk out of your mind enough times to know that you are.

“Here,” he says, reaching back to the table for the glass he brought you. “Drink.”

You do as told. He knows that the water is too cold for your liking, which is evident enough from your flinching at the cool taste. But you still drink it, forcing down the acidity back to your stomach.

You finish the water with a long “Ahhh!” before leaving the glass in the sink. Mista knows that your headache will set in soon, and while it’s too soon to give you any painkillers, he places the medicine on the kitchen counter regardless. Just in case you want them sometime in the night.

“Let’s go lay down,” he continues. He swings your arm around his shoulder once more (not before flushing your mess down the sink drain, of course), and leads you to the humble living room he’s assembled behind his kitchen.

His couch feels plush against your stiff figure. Mista leans you against the armrest, just in case your stomach acts up and you need to vomit again. The last thing he needs tonight is for you to choke and die. After everything that he’s done? Think again.

He stands back, satisfied with his work. “Here, I’m gonna grab you something else to wear. Hold on.” But before he can run off to his closet, he feels something tug on his shirt.

“Wait.” Your voice is raspy and your grip is weak, but it’s enough to catch his attention. “Stay with me.”

“It’ll just be a couple seconds.”

“Please, Guido.”

You never use his first name. Ever since he’s asked you to call him by his last name because that’s what all the cool football players do, you’ve happily obliged. It’s the first time you’ve used his first name since you were kids.

Mista blinks. Nonetheless, he relents, taking his spot next to you.

You return his gesture with a smile. “Here. Let me just…” And with the dip of your head, you’re laying on his chest, your arms wrapped around his figure.

You’ve hugged Mista several times. More times than he can count. That just comes with the territory of being friends for over five years. You’ve hugged him after nights out and many celebrations, but never like this.

He covers his hand with his mouth, his gaze turning to anything but you. “What is with you tonight?”

“Why are you taking care of me?”

Ah. Ignoring his question, he sees. Mista removes his hand from his mouth, placing it on your arm and giving it a squeeze. Keep it cool, Mista. Keep it cool.

“Because we’re friends and that’s what friends do? C’mon, [Name]. You’re smarter than this.”

“But this isn’t the first time.” Your grip tightens. “You’ve never left me hanging. Even for all the stupid things I do, you still find me and take me home. I don’t get it. I’m not worth any of this trouble.”

Not worth any of this trouble? If only you could see his face. His features softened as you said that, his brows knitting and lips forming a tight line. You’re worth all of this, he thinks to himself. I want to do this for you. Because I love you.

He just can’t get himself to tell you.

“Not to me.” He moves his hand up and down your arm. It’s his way of comforting you. He’s never been the best at it, admittedly. But he does try.

“But you called me stupid. Shouldn’t you be spending your time on someone else?”

“Well, yeah, you’re stupid. But your stupid meshes with my stupid, you get me? I wanna help you because I can. I’m not gonna let some other dumbass try to take care of you. That’s my job.”

“But why? No one is forcing you to take care of me.”

That just comes along with my feelings for you. “Like I said, I can and I will.”

“You don’t have to.”

Sure, but I love you. “But I want to.”

“I just don’t get why.”

Because I love you. “Because I love you.”

Wait.

Did he just say that out loud?

“I mean! In a platonic way! The way friends are supposed to love each other!” Mista’s desperately trying to take back everything now. That’s what he gets for narrating everything in his head. Who’s the stupid one now?

“Mista.”

“Love is subjective anyway, right? There are so many ways to see it.”

“Mista.”

“Like, how I love you is definitely not like the romantic kind of love. It’s the 'take care of your friend when they’re stupidly drunk'-type, you know?”

“Mista.”

“What?”

“I love you, too.”

“...What?”

You sit up from his chest so that you can face him. Your legs come up from their places, folding themselves in a cross-cross. Your eyes are watching him carefully, the way that always makes him nervous. He always thought your eye color was beautiful, but seeing them look at him the way he’s always wanted them to… He’s overwhelmed, to say the least.

You try to break the tension by offering him another smile. Mista’s shoulders relax, and he returns your smile the best way he can.

“I love you, too,” you repeat. He watches as you take his hands in yours, just as you did all those years ago. “I’m sorry I got mopey… I just really like you. I have for a while now. I couldn’t comprehend someone like you being there for someone like me and. Um... I wasn’t expecting you to confess, but I’m glad that you did.”

....Is he dreaming? This can’t be real. He has to play back everything to make sure that he heard you right.

So there you are. Sitting across from him. Voicing everything he’s thought about back to him. You love him. He loves you. And he’s wasted years pining over you, when he could’ve had you here, with him, this whole time.

“Are… Are you for real?” A beat. Should he just come clean now? Ah, fuck it. “I've, uh… I’ve thought the same thing about you. But you’re so smart and gorgeous and I’m just… not. I don’t have a lot to offer.”

You don't even hesitate. “You’ve already offered me more than enough. You don’t have to be smart or rich to impress me. You’ve done so much already.”

“I could say the same about you. You really are amazing, [Name].”

“Pfft, and so are you, Guido.”

There you go again, using his first name. You follow this brief moment of intimacy with bringing the gunslinger’s knuckles to your lips, leaving a soft peck on both. He’s dreamed of this moment for so long, to admit to you how much he’s loved you for all these years, only for you to steal his thunder. How typical of you. But he’s not mad. Not any more. Not in the slightest.

And while you might have taken the spotlight on sharing your true feelings, he can at least steal the show.

Mista takes his hand, placing it on your cheek to bring your face to his. He feels you stiffen at his touch, but you return the gesture by cupping his face with your own hands. Within seconds you’re melting, and he can’t help but smile as he kisses you.

Funny how you did the same thing all those years ago — press your palms against his cheeks to squeeze the sad out — only for you to be doing it again. Yet this time there is no sad to squeeze out. Maybe a little, but only because he’s kicking himself for not confessing sooner.

And God, you are just so fucking warm. You make him feel warm. So many years of friendship, so many moments he’s thought about how much he loves you and yet you still manage to give him butterflies. He loves kissing you. And he knows you love it, too. Hearing you hum onto his lips as he slips his tongue in is more than enough of an invitation to press further. He wants more.

“I love you,” he repeats. He moves his hand from your face to the back of your head, supporting your figure as he kisses you. “I love you so damn much.”

His kisses migrate from your lips to your cheek, then to your jawbone and finally, your neck. You take this as your own invitation to press further, moving from your spot and onto his lap. Mista groans as you do this. Fuck, that’s hot. And there’s so much more he can offer you. He knows you’ll let him. You’ve both spent far too long waiting for this moment.

His kisses are light and delicate, as small as the baby’s breath blossoms he’d pick for you as children. He loves feeling the rumble of your moan from your throat — so much so that he’ll do anything he can to get more of it.

So he moves one hand to your ass, while the other gets to work unbuttoning your shirt. He hums as the last button unfurls with a tiny, little pop!, and within seconds, his hand finds itself under your bra.

“Ah… Guido…” His name sounds so beautiful on your tongue. It’s been years since you’ve used it, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to it. He needs more.

“You like that, baby?” He takes your sensitive nipple and plays with it, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. Like everything about you, it’s soft. Warm. So fucking lovely. “Say my name again.”

“That— a-ah. G-Guido!” you manage to force out.

That’s all he needed. Mista takes your breast in his hand, bringing that sensitive nub to his mouth. One benefit of being your best friend is that you’ve told him everything. Including how you never felt spoiled by any of your previous exes. Christ, he’s so excited to change that.

So he laps his tongue over your nipple, suckling it, squeezing your breast with his hand. He’s so desperate to make you feel good. There were so many instances where he knew he could treat you better than your exes. Your moans are indication enough that he’s off to a great start. Such a simple sound, yet something that travels to the pit of his stomach nonetheless.

You taste faintly of salt, likely from dancing with Trish, but Mista keeps licking and sucking and licking and sucking until your nipple is nothing but hot saliva. You whimper as your bud grows sensitive, to which Mista flickers his eyes up to you. Ugh. He forgot how cute you are. He was so focused on making you feel good that he neglected to see your lips pouting — those perfect, full lips — and your eyes shining under his dim overhead light.

He moves to your other nipple, gaze unmoving from your face. Yet when he sees you cry out in delight, how your eyes squeeze shut and your teeth bite at those perfect fucking lips, he has to kiss you again.

You wrap your arms around Mista’s neck as he returns his lips to yours, pulling him close to you. He wastes no time slipping his tongue in once more. It’s messy and it’s clumsy, just as he is, but it’s not like you mind, anyway. He knows you don’t. Everything about Mista is improvised. Yet being around him is what coming home feels like. Welcoming. Right.

He pulls away just for the faintest moment, his dark eyes staring into yours. He blinks. And the goofiest smile emerges on his face. “I love you so fucking much, [Name]. And I promise I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

“Pfft, you’re shit at keeping promises.”

“C’mon! Lemme have this moment.”

And with that, Mista lifts you and places you back onto the couch, facing outward. He wastes no time unbuttoning your pants, and you feel as he drags the fabric from your legs and onto the floor. Oh. Getting hasty so soon?

“What are you doing?” you ask with a small laugh. Mista’s taking off your panties now. “Wait—”

“Keeping my promise. Now shut up.”

Before you can say anything else, Mista runs his tongue over your slit. You respond with another moan, and he can feel that rumble in his stomach again. He’s cursing himself for not being more patient and teasing you more but. Whatever. He’s come this far.

So he takes your legs and swings them over his shoulders. A way to help balance yourself, he reasons, but also to feel your thighs against him. He wraps one arm around your leg to reach the fold above your clit, forcing it upwards to help maximize your pleasure. You find the other hand over your tit, his fingers at work playing with your nipple once more.

Within seconds, Mista’s tongue is over your clit. He starts slow, lapping his tongue in long strokes along the fleshy nub. He’s trying to make up for rushing things, to make you feel as spoiled as you really deserve. He’s surprised that you’re this wet already, though not disappointed. How long had you been in love with him? How long had you waited for this moment?

Feeling you grind against his mouth makes him reason that you’ve been waiting a while. “So greedy,” he teases. He continues with that slow pace, his fingers still at work with your nipple. He wants to electrify you with his touch. If he can make you feel as hot as you do to him, then he knows he’s succeeded.

“Please,” you start. Your fingers wrap around his chestnut curls in a weak attempt to hasten his pace. “I want more.”

“Hm.” He removes his hand from your breast, resting his index and his middle finger on the pad of your bottom lip. “You’ll have to do more if you want more.”

He soon eats his words as he feels you take his fingers into your mouth. Your mouth is so warm and so wet, your tongue swirling around each finger so eagerly and salaciously. Fuck. It’s making his pants tighter. Is that what your pussy feels like? Taking him in with everything you have, opening yourself to be fucked by your best friend?

You look so lewd with his fingers. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you bob your head, running his fingers along your own tongue. Your eyes stare back at him so innocently, so cutely, that he needs to wipe that smug expression off your face.

In one last effort to get him to listen, you release his fingers and say, “I want more, Guido.”

That does it. Mista takes his fingers and forces them into your tight pussy, his tongue running over your clit once more. He curls his fingers against the walls of your opening so perfectly, hitting your spongy insides in a way that makes your stomach twist. More is exactly what he gives you, with his adding another digit to your already-tight opening. He curls and he presses, again and again and again until you feel your head become light.

“Sh-Shit,” you breathe. “I don’t wanna b-be fucked by anyone other than you.”

His breath hitches. You know exactly what he wants to hear. The least he can do is reward you.

“Why d-did I wait so long f-for this?” you continue. “F-Fuck! Just fuck me!”

If you say so.

He curls and he presses his fingers, running them along the walls of your pussy. He feels you clench his fingers, your thighs shaking against his shoulders. It’s the perfect view to see the quick rising and falling of your chest, your head thrown back as he finger fucks you. So beautiful, he muses to himself. And your reactions are all because of him.

Mista’s method is, like all else about him, unpolished but entirely eager. He gets so focused on licking your clit that the movements of his finger pulses become jumbled. It’ll be seconds before he realizes that he’s still inside you, yet when he returns to the motion, that lightheadedness returns. He knows that you’re cursing him for being such an idiot, but he’s your idiot and he’s going to make you finish, anyway.

He tries not to quicken his pace on your clit. Tufts of his hair are held by your perfect hands, a sign he takes as this being the perfect speed. Your grinding against his face is only making him more eager, though. He wants to help you finish so bad. To know that he made you cum. You waited years and years for him to fuck you, and now that he’s here, he wants to give you everything you deserve.

“[Name],” he breathes. His voice is low in a way that you’ve never heard before, his tone rumbling against your clit. “Cum for me.”

And that does it. A sudden wetness pools on Mista’s hand, warm and clear, as he pulls away from you. He loves how your thighs shake around his head. Even more, he loves how your eyes are shut, your mouth breathing one last uneven breath. You look even more perfect than how he imagined.

But he’s not done.

And neither are you.

Your hands rush to the bottom of his shirt, sliding it over his head and tossing it onto his rug. He responds by shimmying your unbuttoned shirt off your shoulders, your bra along with it. His lips find themselves against yours again as you feverishly undo his belt.

“See how good you taste?” he murmurs. You don’t say anything; your only response is your pushing Mista’s pants down his toned thighs. “Goddammit... I’ve waited too long to finally have you.”

You’re smirking as he kisses you. He can feel it. Amongst many other things, he loves knowing everything that you like. Years of whispered secrets and quiet giggles have built up to this. He’s not going to waste it now.

It’s a fact that you acknowledge, too. With his boxers off, you hastily wrap your hand around his shaft. You can’t see anything with his pushing into you, his kisses desperate and warm, but. Dear lord. He feels so full in your hand. Much thicker than any of the other men you’ve been with.

Even still, you can’t tell how big he is. 15 centimeters, at least. Average, but you know it’s going to hurt once he inserts himself into you. It’s a thought that makes you excited; excited enough to quicken your pace in the same way that he so generously did for you.

“A-Ah… [Name]...” His joints are so weak under your touch. And even after all this, he still can’t get rid of the butterflies in his stomach. He’s kicking himself for sounding so needy, but with your eager strokes, he can tell that you don’t mind. There are plenty of other embarrassing things Guido Mista has done in front of you.

“You like being touched by me?” You catch his soft tone immediately. “How many times have you thought of this? How many times did you think of fucking your best friend?”

He swallows. His head is buried in the crook of your neck now. “Too many times,” he admits.

You’re not the only one who knows how to use your friendship to your advantage.

Although you reposition yourself to lay on Mista’s couch, your hand remains unmoving from his cock. Mista follows by placing one leg, bent, on one side of your figure, the other standing to keep himself balanced. Curse this stupidly short couch he found on the corner of the block…

He moans again as your grip tights, twisting slightly around his dick. He places his head in the crook of your neck again, his hot breath against your collarbone. Do you realize what you do to him? He’s had this moment replayed in his mind for so many years, rehearsed everything he would do to you. Yet the moment he gives you control, he becomes a panting mess. How embarrassing.

“Sh-Shit…!” You’re rubbing his tip against your wet entrance now. He’s losing more control. But he has to see what you look like, to know exactly how your features twist as he fucks you properly.

Mista pulls himself from your neck, and. His breath hitches. Not in the same way as before, not pathetic and desperate. He’s in awe. Your pretty eyes stare back at him, begging him to put himself inside you. Your cheeks are still flush from before, and God, it makes you look so damn cute. He loves that your face is still dewy, not because of the alcohol, but because of him. You’re so spent. Yet it’s obvious you want more.

Despite all that, you take the moment from him again. You place his dick at your entrance and pull him toward you, effectively pushing him inside you. Mista’s breath hitches (just the same as before), and while it takes him a moment to compose himself, he takes this as his cue.

He knew that being inside you would be good, but he’d never imagined it’d be this good. You feel so tight around him, so much warmer than he anticipated. Every part of your cunt squeezes his dick in just the right way. It’s evident from his uneven breathing as he thrusts in and out of you.

“I— ah! I-I love you!” you cry. You wrap your arms around his neck in a poor attempt to settle yourself, but let’s be honest, why should you even try? He’s as thick as you thought he was, and even though it stings as he pumps into you, fuck if it doesn’t feel good—

“Goddammit, I love you too...!” He’s never going to get tired of that confession. He could hear it a million times and it would still make his heart race. And it just makes him even harder. You want him. To be fucked by no one other than him. Only him. And he’s going to make sure he’ll be your last.

One hand remains on the couch to keep himself steady, while the other is on your cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheekbone. Everything he’s said is true. Even if he’s pumping into you wildly, there’s still that part of him that wants to take care of you. It’s evident in his movements.

Mista takes this opportunity to deepen his thrusts. Despite his pace, your pussy still clings to him. He can feel it. You’re so moist under him, covering his cock in that same wetness he forced from you as he ate you out. Your cunt makes such lovely sounds as he pushes into you. And while he can feel the coolness from his apartment as he pulls out, he’s not going to deny you those long, fast thrusts he knows you deserve. After all, he wants to take care of you.

“You were made for me,” you breathe, your pretty eyes staring back at him. “S-See how perfectly— a-ah! Shit…!” You pull him closer to you. “See how perfectly we f-fit?”

“Yes, fuck, yes!” He’s babbling at this point now. He hardly has any control over himself. Your wetness, the sounds your pussy’s making, the slap of your ass against his thighs — it’s all so much. His head is spinning.

He’s given everything to you now. He quickens his pace as much as he can, driving his dick into you with such reckless abandon that your eyes roll to the back of your head. That sight alone is enough to make him tremble with excitement, though he tries to quell it as much as he can.

“Fuck me, Guido! Fuck me!”

He can’t take it.

Shit.

Oh, shit.

No no no no—!

It happens so fast. He’s pumping into you, and suddenly, warmth surrounds his cock. He feels it. You feel it, too.

You blink.

Mista blinks.

“Did… did you—?” you start.

“Yep,” he answers.

Guido Mista did, in fact, just finish inside you without any warning.

Well. That does it. He’s ending his friendship with you, effective immediately. Out of all the embarrassing things he could’ve done, did he have to fucking finish in such an embarrassing way!? There were so many things he wanted to do with you still, like make you cum two more times, or finally know how your lips feel around his dick, or—

“Bahahaha! Are you serious?”

Your laughing snaps him out of his thoughts. Of course you’d laugh at his premature finish.

“What?”

“This is just so… in character of you.”

Hold on. Did you expect this to happen? “...What do you mean?”

You don’t respond, only shooting him a look he recognizes as your ‘you know exactly what I mean, don’t play dumb’-look. Your cheeks are still flushed, but he can’t tell if it’s from laughing or from the heated moment before.

Likewise, his own face is beet-red. He’s not just embarrassed, he’s humiliated. He finally has you all to himself, knowing full well that you return his feelings, and this is how he starts it. Way to go, Mista. This must be a bad omen. ...Oh, Christ. What’s going to happen when he has sex with you for the fourth time?

But just as he can so easily read your expressions, you can read his. And before Mista can embarrass himself much further, he feels your palms press against his cheeks. You’re squeezing his face, jutting his lips out in an awfully comical way. You stifle a laugh as you do so, to which Mista raises a brow.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Squeezing the sad out,” you respond.

Ah, yes. Of course. How could he forget?

“Don’t worry about it, dummy,” you continue. You bring his face to yours, placing a kiss on his puckered lips. “I love you, remember? That includes all of you. All your bad jokes, your stinky armpits—”

“My armpits aren’t that stinky.”

“Beside the point. This is one of those moments where I love you most. It’s where you’re the most you.”

He thinks over this for a moment. And then, “You mean that?”

“Obviously. Now help me clean up.”

Where he’s the most him, huh? That… says a lot about his character. He won’t dwell on it, at least not for now. The fact is that he knows you’re telling the truth is enough for him. And the fact that, even after all these years, you’re still there for him even during his most demeaning moments? Well. That says a lot about you.

This isn’t the first time he’ll have you to himself, he admits. Hell, this isn’t even the first time you’ve slept over. There will be many more moments like these, and many more opportunities for him to make it up to you.

For now, he’ll start by helping you off the couch and into his arms. “I love you, too,” he whispers. To you. To himself. There will come a moment where he can tell the rest of the world that [Name] [Surname] is finally his. But for now, all that matters is that you’re here, with him, in his arms and in his heart.

And you hug him back. If he didn’t know any better, it felt like the Earth was embracing him. Bringing him back to where he came, where he always belonged: with you.

#guido mista #jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #golden wind #part 5 #not sfw #vomiting /#alcohol /#mentions of death /

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closer-stars · 4 years ago

Text

Gut Feeling (7)

Member: San Genre: Fluff/Hopeful, bit of angst Word Count: 7.8k Content: bit of food mention, tables turning, nothing too heavy Notes: Anyways. Nearing the end my dudes. I kept thinking of how to end this part but i think i like how this one went. Not really sure of how to talk about this part but yeh it’s nothing heavy. Links to be updated after 24 hours. Also anyone ready for Fireworks? :D Tag list: @barsformars @hwaberrykiwi @miniyeo @shinyddeonghwa @frankenstein852 @yeotlny @seoultraveller

Part 6

You were grateful that Manager Hwang was back by the time the photo shoots were coming. It gives you the much needed air and space away from the boys. Don’t get it wrong, you love the boys dearly, but with everything that has happened, it was better to stay away for now. You already had sent in a letter to your higher ops requesting for a shift in your position: from being just a manager to the eight boys, you ask to work on externals. Your resume proved you to be able to do so they gave you the green light. The approval also means another schedule shift for you, less time with the boys, more time with the KQ staff and with people who are sending love calls to the company in regards to the boys.

--------

“Hyung, you’re back!” Wooyoung squeaks, thus causing the other seven to look at the direction he’s looking at. They’re too exhausted to properly pester him on his return that they end up toppling over themselves on the floor, elated to have him back.

Things were slowly going back to normal-- or at least, as normal as it can be. The same cycle starts, practice, eat, workout, guestings, sleep, repeat. Everyone’s relieved to have some sort of normalcy again, the schedule’s not as hectic as it was during their promotions.

San feels the same, he’s just as happy to have a sense of normalcy back but a part of him nags.

What about you? He’s noticed that he’s been seeing less of you now. Only when the managers need an extra pair of hands whenever they’re out for a schedule and when that happens, it’s usually when everyone’s too exhausted to pester you, even him. He remembers that you were going to be their manager until Hwang comes back.

He doesn’t want you to slip through his fingers like this.

------

The past few weeks have been you in your work table or out and about with the boys. Even if you were with the boys, you were often on your phone, fixing emails and deals with other brands and press to get their name out there. You despised some of the interview questions some of the press would send you: too generic, too leading, nothing about how they work as a team or who they really are but that’s work. Sometimes you just gotta bite the bullet.

On this particular day, you’re stuck in the office alone, working overtime as you fix an agreement with a brand. They were a horror story in your eyes, why were they so demanding? Understandable if it were in regards to the talent fee, the boys were a rising monster in the industry and with the noise their name makes, it was a must that their talent fee was equal to the work quality they gave, if not more. You’re tired, tufts of your hair sticking out as you rewrite an email, sending the draft to your co-workers as you try to get the other party to finally agree. If only you had a bigger influence in the industry this would’ve been easier.

The previous brands ATEEZ worked with were lovely to work with, understanding how the industry works and its demands on those behind the scenes, even going beyond the agreement by lending some of their clothing lines for their performances. But this one in particular, as much as you wanted to drop the discussion, this would be an amazing opportunity for the boys. So you grit your teeth and work again, bending your back to this god forsaken brand without sacrificing the name of the company or the boys.

Your phone rings, bringing you out of your exhausted stupor. You rub your eyes, and press green. “Hello?” You do your best to make yourself sound awake, as if you weren’t just minutes away from pulling at your hair.

Yelling. That’s all you can understand from the other line. Another representative you assume is asking for updates but all you can understand is a middle aged man displeased to not have his way this time so he resorts to calling you names and airing his frustrations. You place him on speaker, your head buried in your hands as you let him run his mouth and his head. A small part of you hopes his head explodes from how he’s speaking but you keep the frustrations to yourself. You’re younger than him, what kind of junior would you be to talk back to a senior regardless of how illogical they were being? You carry the name of the company on you, a step out of line could pull the company back. By the time the other line quiets down, you take your pen and notepad. “Yes, I apologize for the inconveniences caused. I understand that things aren’t going the way we’ve expected, may I please have your name and company name? I will forward this to my higher op and have them take care of this issue as it is beyond my powers to do anything.” He gives his name and details gruffly, it was a miracle that you got everything down. “Is there anythi--” Click.

How wonderful.

You let out a groan as you lean against your seat. Eyes closed as you try your best to keep yourself from crying. Everything’s overwhelming. You could only imagine if you did this shift before the you and San made up, you would’ve bursted into tears in the middle of the call. You didn’t want to complain, if you were tired, everyone was as well. The boys are just as tired, stretched thin by all the packages and deals they need to do in order to make up for the cancelled tours while trying to keep themselves cemented in a fast paced industry. You’re juggling two types of demands. Your thoughts were tangled, what one word could lead to thought A turns into thought B. The white noise was deafening for you but you let it be, as you feel the tell tale signs of a breakdown looming over you.

--------

San on the other hand had just finished his personal training. His towel hangs over his shoulders as he leaves the studio. At this hour, he’s usually the only one left, save for the trainees who still constantly work a floor below him. So why are the lights in the office still on? As he approaches the room, he hears someone yelling. Incoherent but it doesn’t take him much to know that the words being released weren’t nice. He peaks through the clear glass and he sees you.

He sees how heavy your shoulders look as you listen to the voice. You don’t see him but he sees how your eyes look, lifeless and unreadable. He stays there for a moment and he doesn’t know why but he doesn’t leave. The male can’t seem to move from where he is after seeing how worn you look so he waits for you by the couch down the hall. He doesn’t mind waiting.

He just wants to make sure you’re okay.

--------

Thirty minutes pass until you’ve calmed down. 1:30AM. “Shit.” You mumble as you pack all your things up to head home. As you do so, you give your co-workers the notice that you’ll come in a little late as you need rest. You have a lot of reflecting to do. You’ve hit a wall and you need some sort of direction.

You look back at the office, making sure everything is accounted for and well kept before switching the lights off. Even your footsteps sound heavy against the floor as you bring yourself to the elevator. Legs? Who else was here at this hour? Your grip on your phone tightens as you walk slowly. There’s no other way out of this place, the fire exit was beyond the elevator and that meant you had to get past through the stranger.

Slowly, you see who the stranger is. Your muscles freeze at the familiar features. They’re features that are making your heart run for weird and rational reasons. “What are you doing here at this hour?” You ask, voice too hoarse to sound pointed.

He suddenly looks up, shaken by your voice. Why were you doing this to yourself? “I was waiting for you.” He returns softly, standing up as you walk closer to him.

Your feet keep you from approaching him, opting to stay near the elevator for distance. Being near him at your weakest makes your head spin. It’s too much. “You shouldn’t have waited for me, San.” You state as you jab your knuckle on the down button.

The way his name rolls off your tongue should’ve made him happy but right now, it’s bitter to his ears and to your tongue. “I wanted to so I did.” He’s always been the stubborn one. Seonghwa is right: Wooyoung’s the one who’s been listening well nowadays.

Ding!

The elevator doors slide open and you step in, with San following you quickly. He doesn’t give you the chance to close the doors on him. The ride was stuffy. It was quiet but it was the type of silence that makes you want to bolt out of the room once the chance arrives.

The door opens and your feet already move to get out of there.

“Do you.. Want to talk about it?” San asks carefully, the change in his tone makes you stop on the hallway that leads you to the cool air.

“Tell you what?” He knows you’re not playing dumb, the entire ride down, you’ve been out of it.

“What happened in the office.” He states, standing in front of you.

A sigh slips through your lips and you finally look at him in the eye. “San, you need to get home and sleep. I can deal with my problems.” Not entirely a lie, but what use was it for you to blow off steam at him?

“You can but isn’t it better to share them or at least, voice them out?” He returns quietly, his hands in his pockets. He tries his best to be patient, he really does. It’s a lot coming from him, someone who keeps his issues to himself but after everything he’s learned his lesson. He’s going to make it a point to lead by example.

You stay quiet, eyes feeling hot, your sight is blurring and for some fucked up reason, the way the lights from the convenience store that shines on him makes him look good. It’s unfair that your thoughts drift there in your state. You hate yourself for thinking like that.

His fingertips reach up to the corners of your eyes, wiping the tears that have fallen down your cheeks. San never liked seeing his loved ones in pain, especially if he can’t take the pain from them.“I’ll buy us ice cream and we can eat it in the car.” He offers. Judging by how you look, you don’t like the idea of being in the open in this state. “Wait for me in the car, okay? I can get you coffee milk too.” He adds softly. While he looks at you with the utmost care, his tone gentle, his words don’t leave room for you to argue. You don’t want anyone to see you like this, so you nod, putting your hoodie over your head. You use the tips of your sleeves to wipe away the tears before heading into the car.

He follows behind you then splits towards the convenience store. He takes the chance to get the two of you some snacks, water and ice cream. His schedule tomorrow starts in the afternoon so he wasn’t too concerned about missing out on sleep.

As he goes through the assorted products on display, he wonders which ones you would like best. He still hasn’t figured out your favorite flavors and comfort food and he feels bad for it. He does know you love your coffee but at a time like this, your go-to isn’t recommended. He does make a point to grab a bottle of water as you’ve had a rough day and crying is usually a pain for the eyes. Eventually, he picks a few flavors that he and the members like that he thinks you might like as well. He couldn’t leave you alone in the car for too long. Eventually, he’ll know what you like and don’t like anyways.

You sit on the driver’s seat, warming the car up as you wait for San to return. Deep breaths, you tell yourself. Crying too much would give you a headache, and it’s not a good idea to let everything out now. San didn’t even have his license yet.

Two knocks against the window startles you out of your thoughts, but it’s a surprise needed to stop yourself from crying. You lean over to open the door for him and he climbs in with a small bag of snacks, drinks and on both hands were the ice cream.

“I got you the one in a cup since, you’re driving…” he trails off, the plastic bag rustling on his seat before hopping in.”...and a bunch of other snacks...” San explains as he settles down and buckles up for the ride. San connects his phone to the car’s sound system. You’re grateful for some sort of distraction from your thoughts as you make sure the two of you come home in one piece.

The entire ride home, San sings to all the songs with his entire heart. You know how loud he can get but in an enclosed space like a car, it’s amplified. Some parts, he goes off key, some parts he mimics the singer perfectly, both times have gotten you laughing at how unexpected it becomes. The voice imitations he does that usually puts a pained look on your face, now brings out a smile. Yet, even in his goofy antics, his range as a singer shines, it’s really only a matter of time before he shows all of it to the world.

San on the other hand, did all of those on purpose. While you can’t talk about what’s been bothering you, the least he can do is make you laugh and ease your heart with his antics. At red lights, you eat your ice cream, which he would often hold for you when the light turns green.

The two of you arrive at the complex safe and sound; your ice cream already melted in its cup, not that you minded. “San?”

He stops his actions and looks at you, raising his eyebrows in confusion. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” You say simply with a tired smile. “Today has just been too much that I caved earlier.” You were about to talk about it when you saw the time.

He sees how you’re about to close yourself up for his sake that he immediately butts in. “I got time.” He jabs the button that leads to the rooftop. At this hour, he assumes no one would be there. It’s far too late for a regular person to be out at this hour but should there be someone besides them, he wouldn’t judge.

The small screen flashes the numbers going up as you head to the rooftop. For a moment, you frown at how he doesn’t relent to your wishes of him getting his rest but it only takes a few moments for it to melt away. It’s been too long since you properly shared your worries with someone. Hell, Jiwoo has been too busy dealing with rumors surrounding her own artists.

That’s how the next few hours go. You share your worries and stresses in work with him. Admittedly, it was still rather filtered, since he’s been in the company longer than you have. He catches on to this.

“I know you tell me to treat you like a friend, so treat me like one too. It’ll be easier on you.” He reasons gently, finding himself munching on a jelly pack the two of you were sharing. It’s his sharp intuition that also intimidates the living lights out of you sometimes.

Maybe it’s the fact you’ve shouldered so much since your first day that you bare a lot of things to him. Your worries, apologies, and wishes. You don’t have it in you anymore to be private about yourself, you tell him stories that answer his questions about you. In exchange, he tells you his stories, though some of which you knew from the mouths of the other boys and staff but to hear it come from his mouth was an experience in itself. A lot of layers were revealed to each other and it made your heart squeeze a bit; remembering your conversation with the two oldest members. Would you have given him a chance if things had gone a little differently?

The thought is cut short when the two of you notice that the sky has come to light purple shade, the sun peeking out of the horizon. With that, you stand up and San looks up at you in confusion.

“You need to get some rest, today’s your rest day from all activities.”

“What about you?” He questions as he stands up as well.

“I’m still going to work, d’uh.” Your answer causes him to look at you in alarm. You still haven’t slept, what do you mean you’re working still? “Just later in the day, I told my team I’m coming in late after working overtime.” Your quick explanation softens his features but doesn’t change the fact he’s concerned for your well being. He nods and has you walk back in first, bringing you to your floor first before him.

“At least get five hours of sleep.” He chides. The shift in your relationship was a surprising one but you’re too tired to really give it any proper attention. At his concern, you nod, promising your best to do so.

“You too. I’ll…” A yawn cuts through your words. “... see you whenever. Good night.” You greet, waving to him as you head inside your apartment.

San doesn’t leave until he hears your door lock. He’s reassured in knowing that the two of you are in better terms even if he won’t see you as often anymore.

--------

Several days have passed since that exchange and you seem a lot lighter. San has mellowed down too and while the boys can tell something has happened they can’t really place what it is.

The boys see you from time to time, but they notice the slight hints of exhaustion on you. You enjoy what you’re doing, yes, but having to deal with other brands that weren’t cooperative were the bane of your existence. You didn’t like this brand partnership but you grit your teeth. You can only imagine how hard it was for your boss who had to deal with immature leaders from more than just the brand deal.

Now, it was you who was bringing them to the photoshoot venue. You were the point person for this deal and schedule, and considering that it was going to be a whole day one. At least, it’s Hwang was going to be the one in charge of the ride home.

Upon arriving, you greet the stylists and photographers, letting the boys introduce themselves before everyone’s ushered to the dressing rooms. You keep watch of their personal belongings as the stylists did their work on them. You can tell San’s keeping an eye out for Mihyun, and you eventually do the same. The team did tell you they’ll respond accordingly but never gave you an update as to what the response would be. Half an hour passes, everyone’s already made up for the first concept and Mihyun’s nowhere to be seen.

Now, what you didn’t expect was how well the stylists would work on the boys. They’re of age already to look mature, their performances and how they carry themselves tell you that. Yet those have a youthful vibe, the current look they have gives them a different air around them. Maybe it’s the clothes and make up but they carried themselves a little differently. The colors were the usual dark colors they’re most comfortable in, with a pop of bright colors here and there. The hair styled up, with makeup that made the boys appear more like men. Truthfully, you knew how this photoshoot would go, but seeing it in its entirety play out in front of you took a lot of wind from you.

San looks at himself at the full body mirror away from the setup. “Manager-nim!” He never really got rid of that habit despite you not really being their manager anymore. “What do you think?” He asks as he fiddles with the stray strands of hair that fall over his forehead, barely grazing his eyebrows. The male shifts and looks at you, giving you a better view of what he wore: a purple polo with a few open buttons, a dark blazer with slacks. It looks normal but this is San, he somehow knows how to make it stand out.

It takes a few blinks and a quick gathering of your slightly scattered brain to make an acceptable answer. “Purple fits you.” You say simply and it’s enough to make San beam at you, the youthful boy still peaking through the intimidating look.

“What do you think of Jongho’s shoot so far?” He asks, and you tear your gaze away from him to look at the youngest pose through the flashes.

They’ve grown so much. This photoshoot is a huge whiplash to you who often saw them as just young boys (even if they were roughly around your age) still living their life. A small part of you feels proud to see them mature. “Time really flies doesn’t it?” You muse. You remembered how this magazine was one of the first magazines ATEEZ worked with in their early days.

San catches the references and flushes in embarrassment. “Oh my god, you saw the photos?”

At his shock, you laugh softly and nod. “Yeah, while you guys got ready, some of the staff and I had a chat and they told me about your first photoshoot with them.” His ears are burning a bright red at your words but a smile graces his features. “Nothing to worry about, they have nothing but praise for you and your group.” The photographer calls for San’s name, thus cutting your conversation short. “Go, Mr. Kyungil is already calling for you.”

“At least, monitor my work!” San pleads.

“Wooyoung?” You offer, but he pouts, adamant in having you instead.

“God, fine. Don’t want Mr. Kyungil to wait too long.” You relent, pushing him gently forward.

At least, Wooyoung is the next one in line as he comes out of the dressing room in a sleeveless black top and leather pants. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he flashes a cheeky grin and wink at you. “I look good, don’t I?” You shake your head, tickling him immediately to console him from your joke.

“Your fans aren’t ready for this photoshoot of yours.” You muse as the two of you look at San and at the computer screen as each photo is immediately uploaded. Where you lack in volume, Wooyoung makes up for it. The two of you were clearly impressed with how the photos were coming out, though with some of them being San joking around with the photographer. Being born with good looks really gets a long way, you think. You take a quick glance at your phone to see how many concepts and clothes they’ll go through.

You’re in for a long day.

He finds himself sulking inside when you talk and mess with Wooyoung for a moment but he doesn’t have enough energy to outwardly show it when a camera is a few feet away from him and he’s got spotlights bearing down on him. As he hears you and Wooyoung react to each of his photos, he feels his confidence grow. Admittedly, he’s alright with you and him being just friends, he also can’t deny his feelings for you still. He sees how impressed you are and how flustered you get when he looks at you with this kind of makeup. With how you react, he wonders if what you really want is someone mature and not someone as inexperienced as him. He catches himself in this thought process and shakes it away with a roll of his shoulders, shifting his heavy gaze to the camera. Focus, you’re at work. He reminds himself.

The way you clap, how your eyes widen, and nod approvingly at his shots makes him proud. It doesn’t matter to him if that’s how you react to the other members too. If you were genuinely impressed with his work then that was enough for him.

It’s the same cycle for the rest of the day: solo shots, unit shots, group shots, change then repeat. Halfway through the third cycle, you get up from your seat. The exhaustion starts to set in, from the emails you do as you watch over them. From time to time, the stylists would chat with you, keeping you company.

[ Manager Hwang to You ] What do you and the boys want? I’m on my way and passing by a coffee shop.

You look up from your phone and ask the boys what they want. They had enough time for a meal along with taking a breather from the constant changing, lights and everything in between. You can only imagine how difficult it is to be in front of hot spotlights. It eventually becomes four orders of tea latte, two orders of americano, three orders of mixed fruit juice. Once you get everyone’s, you relay the message to Hwang. Instead of going back to your spot, you take the chance to walk around for a bit, stretching your sore muscles. You’ll probably take a nap once Hwang arrives.

When you settle back in your seat, you stretch once more before a yawn slips through you. “Please tell me you have your own jacket this time.”

The voice startles you and it’s San again. This time in a grey sleeveless turtleneck. His makeup was different this time, less red and more natural tones. He drops himself next to you, as you massage your own shoulders. “I do, don’t worry about me too much.” You chide gently, pulling out your denim jacket.

He notes the style and giggles. “I didn’t know you and Hongjoong have the same taste.” He teases. As you shrug on the jacket, you look at the sleeves: acid washed with bright colors over the bleached spots. It did kind of look like something Hongjoong would wear.

“He has good taste then.”

“I didn’t say anything about him having bad taste.”

The two of you share a look, waiting for the other to cave but neither of you do and instead, the two of you break into a fit of laughter. A much needed wake me up as you wait for Manager Hwang.

You hear the photographer call his name again and you nudge him to move. “Your turn, purple boy.” You tease. With a wave of your hand, you shoo him off. By the time none of them are in the room, some of the makeup artists even sneak a few minutes of shut eye.

[ You to Manager Hwang ] I feel bad for the stylists, they’re so tired ;;

[ Manager Hwang to You ] Leave it to me.

[ You to Manager Hwang ] ???

He doesn’t reply to your confusion. You lean against the wall, resting your eyes from all the harsh lights you’ve been exposed to.

When you open your eyes again, you’re leaning against someone’s shoulder. You push yourself up to sit up properly and you’re greeted by Manager Hwang on his phone. There were bags of coffee and some snacks rest on the table and your computer’s plugged to an outlet. That’s when you realize that you inevitably fell asleep. “What time did you get here?” You ask as you try to wake up.

“Half an hour ago, your head was just a few inches above the seat.” He teases. It takes a lot out of you not punch his arm: even the managers take the chance to tease you. You peek out of the dressing room and see that the boys are in their fourth set of clothes. Some of them were being interviewed based on the small cameras around them as they wait for their turn. Judging from the food in the other room, it’s probably around dinner time already. You make the guess that you’ll finish past midnight. At least, Hwang got everyone something to eat and drink to last through the night.

--------

Everyone goes through the photos of the last cycle. Some of the boys hollering and cheering at certain photos. San takes a few photos of some shots of him and his members: if it’s for blackmail or for their birthday, no one knows. The staff reacts just as warmly as his members to some of the shots the photographer took. Once everyone is satisfied, a chorus of praises and thanks are thrown back and forth from ATEEZ and the staff as each party helps the other pack up after the long day.

As the members rustle about the photos before changing out of their clothes, he can’t help but look back at how far he has gone. Gone were the days of the scrawny kid with the high pitched voice who was chasing after a dream. Now, a toned man who is living his dream gazes back at him at the mirror. How fast does time fly? He glances at you through the mirror, you’ve been stretching a lot to push off the exhaustion. You seem to be getting used to the hectic, long days outside the office at least. Everyone’s saying their parting words for the day. After getting out of the dressy clothes and into something more casual, he’s excited to go home.

He and the rest wait for you by the door as you discuss when you’ll be able to receive a copy of all the photos plus the final choices for their magazine. Without Seonghwa paying attention, he sneaks a bite out of his cream puff, before hiding it quickly with a sip from his tea. It’s 2AM, he’s not reckless enough to take coffee at this time. Wooyoung becomes a spectator of the event and tries to hide his snickers, only to fail and for Seonghwa to catch on. Hongjoong doesn’t even bother to control the bickering, already leaning against Yunho’s back as he waits.

“Sorry to keep you guys waiting.” You say as you rush over to them. Your coffee was already finished by the time their photoshoot was finished. Once you catch up to them, the group walks towards the car. You hand the keys to Manager Hwang after a moment of rummaging through your bag.

“Manager-nim, how are you going to sleep? You just had coffee..” Mingi wonders, San could hear the pout in his voice. It was a good question.

You cast a glance at them and while you flash them a smile that’s meant to reassure, San catches the lines of exhaustion. He wonders what else do you have to do after this. “Don’t worry too much, I can flush it out with water.”

At your words, the male says nothing but takes another sip from his tea. He’ll probably just walk you back to your apartment again, just to make sure you’re not faking it again.

The ride back home was a lot quiet. You immediately fell asleep in the passenger’s seat and so did the other members. He started feeling sleepy in the middle of the trip. The only ones awake were Manager Hwang (d’uh) and Yunho. The two fill each other in on what has happened over the past few months. San’s head was lolling about in his spot, up until he lands on Jongho’s shoulder.

He wakes up to the harsh lighting shining against his eyes. He looks around and realizes that he’s in the parking lot, some of the members trying to wake themselves up as they wait for the elevator. You were there with them too, blinking constantly to gain your bearings. Manager Hwang stays by the door. “Sounds like you had some good sleep.”

That could only mean one thing.

“Did I snore..” San mumbles as he hops out of the car while straightening his clothes. He shuts the door behind him and Hwang nods.

“Yeah, it’s nothing new. You had a long day.” He hands the male the car keys. “Manager Yoon, tomorrow.” He says.

There’s still that small part of him that wants to put his best foot forward for you but he knows better than to do that. He can’t help it, he just wants to show that he could be the man for you. Another part of him thinks that it’s normal, the managers and the rest of the group has seen and heard him snoring in the past, it’s about time you saw him without the spotlight and makeup. He follows the rest of the group to the elevator. He spots you leaning against the wall, clearly exhausted from today’s schedule. “Are you okay?” San asks softly. Even though you nod, he doesn’t really buy it. He drifts carefully to Hongjoong. “I’ll bring them to their apartment first.”

Hongjoong glances over at you and catches you practically sleeping on your feet. It would be wise to make sure you get to your apartment safely and not pass out on the hallways. The leader nods at San’s idea. At his approval, San hands the car keys to him. “Manager Hwang said it’s Manager Yoon tomorrow.” Hongjoong hums again, a small grin on his lips. That’s the only thing that tells him there’s going to be a game night tomorrow.

The elevator doors slide open and everyone inches in. From the size of the lift, you’re stuck next to San. He could already feel exhausted you are: since Day one, you never really liked leaning against someone to catch on shut eye. The only times he remembers you leaning on someone as you slept was during the first K-Con and earlier today when Manager Hwang had arrived. Right now, you lean your forehead against his back. He says nothing about it though, you need to rest soon.

When the elevator rings of arriving on the designated floor, you lift your head up, thinking that it would be the boys first. Instead, the boys pile out and let you and San leave first. “Manager-nim, you need the rest more than we do right now. You’ve had a long day.” Seonghwa explains in the best way possible, hoping the words stick in your sleep fuddled head. You feel someone’s arm wrap around you to keep you up on your feet. You mumble something and wish them a good night as you’re guided to your apartment.

It takes seconds for you to realize that it’s San who’s walking with you. Were things going back to normal? It’s a question that rings faintly in your head as it’s overpowered by San’s hushed worries and praises. “You’ve worked so hard lately..” He mutters while walking carefully. He doesn’t really think you’d respond as you shuffle your feet forward. “I worry about you a lot. It’s rare to hear you talk about your worries…” San has more thoughts he wants to express but the walk from the elevator to your apartment is a short one. He stops infront of your door and lets you punch in the lock code before letting go of you. Out of habit, he brushes his tiers against your temple. He’s always been openly affectionate, especially when he knows someone has had a long day. “Get some rest.” He mumbles softly before stepping back.

“Good night, San.” You breathe out, tipping your head in thanks to his words and returning them to him. He catches your timid smile before the door closes on him. It takes a moment for him to gather his thoughts before heading to the elevator, waiting for the lift to bring him to his floor.

He thinks back to the peck, and it only dawns on him then what he had done.

[ San to You ] Hey okay, so I just realized I pecked you before you headed inside your apartment. I promise it doesn’t have any weight on it, it’s just something I tend to do with my members as well after they had a long day.

He doesn’t hesitate and presses send.

[ You to San ] It’s okay. It’s been a long day working. Good night!

While your words bring a bit of reassurance, he can’t help but wonder: how much more will he fuck up what you guys have left?

--------

“They didn’t tell you?” Manager Yoon asks, incredulous. He stares at the boys who had now stopped what they were doing to stare back at him with wide eyes.

“No?? They never told us anything.” Wooyoung returns with a sulk. His eyebrows furrowed together, concern lining his features. The same could be said for the rest of the boys. San on the other hand freezes in his spot.

Why did you leave?

Why was he even asking that question, he already had a few guesses.

This makes Yoon think for a moment, observing their reactions, then sighs. “Yeah, they left a few weeks back.” He continues, saying that you had to leave due to health reasons-- that was something San had a feeling about. He couldn’t help but think it was his fault but he keeps the guilt to himself. “Let’s continue this during lunch. We can’t get behind schedule.” Yoon reminds them carefully as he senses the drop in mood. They had a meeting with a production company after lunch, but right now they have rehearsals for an upcoming comeback.

No one else knew of San’s feelings for you save for his members. The eldest ends up looking over at the male from time to time after each run of the choreography. The younger’s frustration isn’t seen in his movement. It’s in his features. What During downtime, he’s a lot quieter. A storm goes on in his head and Seonghwa carefully makes his way to his side. “Let’s talk about this later okay?” The ash haired male says softly and San who’s still in shock, merely nods.

San stays in the studio a little later than usual today. He reasons that he wants to practice his vocals. Seonghwa sighs, knowing the truth, but he lets him be. He knows San needs his space before he lets himself open up. So here he is now, in the booth, looking for a song to sing.

A certain song catches his attention, rather fitting for his position. He listens closely, eyes closed as he focuses on the lyrics. It was the song to let out frustrations he can’t properly express so he gets to it. He reads the lyrics a few times. It’s not that he needed to do this perfectly, he just needed some sort of release. What was supposed to be only an hour turns into three. What was supposed to become a cathartic release became him in his zone. He has ended up writing the lyrics down with small notes on where he should lengthen his breathing, when to project, what to emphasize and so on. Once he was satisfied, he gives it a go.

The instrumentals ease in. He sings softly at first, breathy and unlike his usual style but it was a challenge he needs; something that didn’t have him physically exerting himself the way dance does. His voice raises and strains slightly at the change of notes and range. As he sings, memories he’s shared with you flash through his mind.

He spots you coming out of the small room, trying to wake up after a nap. His hoodie hanging over your arms. “Good sleep?” He asks, putting his phone away. You were about to hand his hoodie back to him when he shakes his head. “You need it more than I do today, use it as much as you need.”

--------

“Hey, monitor me please?” He pleads, doing his utmost best to get you to give in to him. He wants you to see him do his best because you bring the best out of him. You relent and he hops about in joy. You were the only one monitoring his scenes, Wooyoung wasn’t even with you. After four runs, he asks you how he does.

“As expected from ATEEZ’s charm and Namhae’s pride, you don’t disappoint, San.”

--------

The fleeting kiss.

--------

As the song reaches its climax, he remembers the last conversation he had with you. He remembers how you looked so worn in front of him and how he couldn’t bring himself to give you a hug. He feels frustrated at how he couldn’t protect you from life’s troubles. He realizes his faults in this and for once he doesn’t feel angry. He just feels disappointed in himself for being selfish. Maybe if he didn’t think with his emotions this wouldn’t have happened.

He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, crying over someone who deserved better. He eventually sings from his heart; depths he didn’t think he could reach were reached from the emotions he’s experiencing. He doesn’t realize that his cheeks are wet but that doesn’t deter him from his singing.

--------

He was looking outside the studio, expecting you to be there, instead he’s greeted by Manager Hwang. He covers the flash of disappointment with how exhausted he feels. When he asks if he’s done with practice, he nods. He wants nothing but rest at this point.

--------

He catches himself pressing the button to your floor, even when it’s only him. Once he realizes his mistake, he shakes himself awake, pressing the button to his floor.

--------

Another music video shoot and this was out of his comfort zone. ‘I’m scared.’ San thinks, and he realizes that you’re not there to reassure him. You’re working in another department this time, managing them wasn’t your job now. He’s back to being on his own.

--------

When the song ends, his breathing is heavy. He never liked crying, even though he tells others that it’s okay to cry. He lets himself calm down, wiping his tears away. He couldn’t leave the booth looking like this. San takes all the time he needs to regain his composure. When he stepped out of the booth, he didn’t think Seonghwa would be a few feet away, busying himself with his phone.

“Hey kiddo, I think we should talk.” He raises a plastic bag of some snacks and drinks. He wasn’t sure if he could see their dinner in the bag as well. “Let’s head up to the terrace yeah?”

It’s going to be a long night.

--------

Seonghwa listens as San recounts everything since you became their manager, since he started looking at you differently, since he confessed, since you started catching feelings, since things got worse up until you left. This has been the most unfiltered he has been in regards to his feelings about you.

“They care about you.” Seonghwa says softly. “Now don’t quote me on this but I really think, if things went differently, the two of you would’ve worked.” San looks at him as he eats his dinner.

He couldn’t go against that.

“San, they like you enough to think about your situation first. They know how fans can be if they find out their idol is dating. They didn’t want you to go through that. They could’ve given the dating a shot but they did what they did. Maybe it wasn’t the best execution of the plan but it’s within good reason.” The elder explains.

San looks away from him and shifts his gaze to his meal. He wants to apologize to you but he doesn’t know if that’s possible. “Do you think we’ll see them again?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

The older looks over at the younger, and it’s times like this that reminds him that San’s still growing. “It’s really just a matter of time. If they’re really for you, you’ll meet each other again.” Seonghwa ruffles the younger’s hair much to his dismay.

San whines and tries to move away from his reach. “You really need to stop watching dramas with Jongho..”

The complaint makes Seonghwa laugh, shooting the younger a sympathetic smile. “Hey, those dramas do have some notable thoughts.” He defends, gently bumping his forehead against San’s. “You’ll survive this, San. Maybe not now, but eventually.”

San’s thankful for the faith but in his heart, he has his doubts.

--------

It’s been roughly over a year since you left the company and things have been back to normal now. San’s back to his usual antics-- well as normal as he can be. If he could compare the pain, it was like a scar. You’ve healed from the pain but sometimes you see the imprint of what was. There were times where things that remind him of you didn’t affect him and there were times were things that vaguely reminded him of you subdued him. Healing was never linear and for Choi San, a man who gave his everything into anything, it will take a long time before he has faith in himself to do it all over again for someone else.

The entire group’s on the way to the shooting location for their next comeback. A month and a half from now, they’re dropping the next album. The past few surpassed their expectations but even then, they know where they needed to get better. They’ve matured: both as their respective selves and as musicians. There were times where some members were out going on secret dates with their respective interests but San hasn’t taken any chance at romance since you.

They arrive at the production house’s venue, already the sets are prepared with some of the staff lugging around some of the cameras and lights, their stylists busy themselves with last minute alterations to their outfits. Everything was pretty much set for the next few days.

Manager Bae looks around for their point person. They knew where they should be but for the sake of propriety and respect, they look for the point person who’ll introduce them to the director. “Hey!” He calls out and everyone directs their eyes at the direction their manager looks at.

His heart jumps in his chest and he needs to hold on to Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Hyung.”

“Yeah.”

You’re the point person.

Part 8

#ateez fanfictions #ateez fanfiction #my writing #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez angst #san fanfiction #san scenarios #yeah i'm just too sleepy to consider anything else

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cheese-ception · 4 years ago

Text

Icy Shell

Darlings, kindly forgive the initial angst - I promise the fluff that follows in the second half makes up for it tenfold.

Beta-tested on my dear @masamune-archive Tagging @tsubaki3192 and @spanish-aguacate, because I can and because it’s Levi time, you two, woo! Please, enjoy ♡ pairing: Leviathan (Obey Me!) x reader warnings: angst (to fluff) word count: 2004

Nothing seemed to make sense anymore and it wasn't fair. Leviathan's trembling fingers ran through his hair, still damp from the the shower he took earlier, purple strands glistening with stray droplets of water. Hours have passed him by as he struggled to pull himself together, pacing through his room anxiously, an agonized scowl twisting his features.

His eyes were glossed over, dark circles underneath them matching the shadows in his mind. He cursed profusely, tripping over one of the countless boxes littering the floor. Tears streamed down his cheeks, their wet trails almost painful in their descent, stinging his skin with merciless salt. He did not even bother to wipe them away, the last fragments of his focus set on a completely different kind of torment.

He picked up one of the boxes, tracing its edges with his chilled fingers, only to put it away again, carefully but without any real care at the same time.

The world was utterly joyless, a mere replica of what it used to be before the two of them met.

Before she filled his heart with all these strange feelings, causing him to become apathetic to the very things that used to keep him going.

Now none of them really mattered, regardless of how hard he tried.

Each time he ordered new merch, he lost interest before it even arrived.

Whatever game he played failed to entertain him.

Any show would have been better if she was there to watch it with him, leaving him feeling even more lonely and miserable.

He used to look forward to escaping social gatherings, to being alone in his room, able to enjoy the peace and quiet, far from the noise and the judgemental stares of all the normies he was forced to keep in touch with.

But not anymore.

Nothing made sense and it was all her fault.

Or was it, really? How many times had she asked to hang out together? How many times had she smiled at him, eyes sparkling with excitement, lips shiny with her cherry chapstick, upturned in the most endearing of smiles?

A smile that made him feel like his heart would cease beating if he didn't stop looking, so dazzling and brilliant that it made my shy away almost instantly.

He struggled hard not to give that feeling a name, afraid that if he did, the spell would break and she would finally realise he didn't deserve any of it, that she was better off sharing it with someone else, someone more worthy. He slid to the floor, hugging his knees tight to his chest, the war within him so intense that it easily put the whole celestial debacle to shame. Or at least that's certainly how it felt while his nails pierced his skin, setting themselves deep into the flesh of his forearms, crimson staining his white sleeves.

Days turned into weeks and he refused to leave his room, opening the door only when Asmodeus brought him food.

Sometimes not even then, leaving it grow cold at the doorstep, letting hunger gnaw at his insides in a desperate attempt to distract him from the void food couldn't fill.

It was better this way.

If he stayed away long enough, these feelings would eventually disappear. Surely he wouldn't suffer forever and she probably didn't even notice.

He was a nobody after all.

Nobody to be missed. He curled into himself in his tub, cradling a pillow to his chest and closed his eyes, ready to let the world disappear behind his weary eyelids and drift away to another restless sleep.

But even that wasn't meant to be as a soft knock sounded against the door, disturbing his attempt at disconnecting from reality.

“Go away, Asmo, I am not hungry!” he snarled, tossing around in a fruitless attempt at getting comfortable again.

He was met with silence, interrupted only by the soft click of the lock as the door opened slowly. Light spilling inside in harsh rays, Leviathan groaned, diving underneath the blanket where he sat still, pulling it over his head like a make-shift hoodie.

The floor creaked and he blinked fast, desperately trying to adjust his sight to the unwelcome luminosity but then the door closed again, shrouding everything in blissful darkness.

He sighed, relief spreading through him until he realised that his visitor didn't actually leave. Either that, or his nightmares came true and he was finally going crazy.

After all, he couldn't very well distinguish dreams from reality at this point and maybe he was just dreaming.

Why else would she be in there after all? “Levi?” a voice rang and his throat tightened, emotions flooding into him, threatening to suffocate him on the very spot.

He peered from underneath his blanket, trying to establish if it was really happening, not trusting his own voice enough to reply just yet.

“Are you okay?” Another sentence cut through the air, straight into his heart as he finally realised she was really there.

Her tone was filled with worry and he forced out a quiet hum, unsure just how to verbalize a proper response. “You have been away for a while, so I came here to check on you. I hope you do not mind too much. I know you probably did not want to see me, but I had to make sure you were alright,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, trailing off into an awkward silence. He didn't know what to say. There was so much he wished he had the courage to tell her but words failed to form and he opened his mouth to speak several times, only to close it again right after.

He felt something warm touch his arm and he shivered, torn between flinching away and remaining as he was, letting the warmth seep into his gelid body, devoid of any of his own heat within. It was like being kissed by the sun after a long winter and he decided to stay still, letting some of the frost that settled on him dissolve, even if only for a moment.

Daring to look up, he searched her face, pale in the dim light of Henry's fish tank, wearing an expression so sincere it made his grip on the blanket tighten, moved by the intensity of the moment as the realisation hit him.

She really cared. For him, out of all the beings in the three realms combined.

She chose to seek him when he wanted to make it easy on her.

When he wanted to make her life better by removing himself from it.

“You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, but would it be okay if I hugged you?” she inquired, leaving him stunned for a few moments before he nodded, apprehension pulling at the last string that held him together. He thought he would fall apart right there in front of her, the frantic beating of his heart causing his blood to race, further melting his icy shell as he leaned forward tentatively.

For a fleeting moment he saw her smile, the very smile that shattered his heart and now pieced it back together, the sight of it making it soar like a phoenix born anew.

He held his breath, terrified that he misheard or that she was only teasing, ever so difficult to be convinced that anything pleasant could actually ever take place with him as a part of the equation. Doubt tugged at his mind, dismay threatening to settle in while he steeled himself, arms unfolded and raised in front of him somewhat awkwardly, waiting for her next move.

Suddenly her slender frame collided with his and it was as if he ascended back to heaven. Her scent enveloped him in its fruity sweetness, her chest pressed against his, delicate arms winding around him, patting his back affectionately.

It was entirely too much, yet somehow not enough and he choked back a whimper, sinking his teeth into his lower lip to silence himself instead.

Levi whined at the loss of the sensation when she eventually drew away, much too soon for his liking, even though he wouldn't openly admit it.

She took both of his hands in hers, giving them a little squeeze and he realised they were no longer cold at all. He closed his eyes, happiness spreading through him like a wildfire, the sparks of his love burning so bright and vivid that he nearly couldn't take it.

“I really missed you,” she chimed, loosening her grip on his hands, giving him space to retreat if he chose to do so.

“I am not quite sure what happened, but suddenly you were gone and it was like a part of me was missing too. Sorry if it sounds weird, but it's just not the same without you around, you know?”

“You really mean that?” he rasped, voice strained and hoarse, a mix of hope and insecurity filling it with equal share.

“Of course, why would I say it if I didn't mean it, silly?” she retorted, flashing him yet another smile and his last icy wall melted away.

Pulling her back to him, he let go of the previous hesitation, eager to feel more of what he spend so long denying himself, flustered and overstimulated but more content than he has ever been.

His trust was not easy to earn, but he decided to believe her and silence the nagging voices in his head for once. For her. And perhaps for himself too.

Her fingers combed through his hair, untangling the unruly tresses while her nails drew intricate patterns over his scalp, soothing yet enticing at the same time. He let out a sigh, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and she pulled him even closer, until he could feel her heartbeat mirroring his own in their silent race without a winner, invigorating beyond description. He felt more alive than ever before, her name dying on his lips while he carefully stroked her back in turn. He wished he could take back all the time he had wasted, thinking himself a fool for avoiding her when it was so strikingly obvious that what he really craved was the exact opposite of that.

Every second spent with her was sacred and he realised it now.

He didn't have to hide. Not anymore.

She brushed his fringe away, kissing his exposed forehead, gentle fingers attempting to tuck the silky strands away, failing tremendously. His hair cascaded back into its place, stubborn, just like himself. Levi chuckled and she kissed him again, this time on top of the messy purple layers, rewarded by a soft gasp.

“Do you still remember when you once asked me what my greatest fear was and I wasn't sure what to reply?” she inquired, snapping him out of the momentary daze.

He nodded, patiently waiting for her to continue.

Her hand slid to his cheek, gently stroking his flustered face as she took a deep breath before carrying on.

“I did not yet know then, but what really scares me is the thought of living in a world untouched by your presence, Levi. Please don't disappear on me like that again.” He met her gaze, reluctant and skittish at first, but soon grinning so hard the tips of his usually hidden fangs were on full display. He was grateful, for her but also for the fact that he somehow managed to retain his human form. He was certain that if his tail had manifested, there would be nothing he could do to prevent it from wagging. His cheeks burned even brighter than before, eyes flickering with newly found zeal. He continued smiling, extending a pinky to her with poorly concealed enthusiasm, focusing hard on pushing back the scales that begged to sprout across the sides of his hand while he held it out in her direction. “I won’t, I promise!” ________ Masterlist

#obey me!#obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me! leviathan #leviathan fanfiction #levi fanfiction #obey me levi fanfic #obey me levi x mc #obey me levi x female mc #angst to fluff #my MC earned herself a name by this one #but I won't tell you what it is yet #she's extremely good to him and I love her for it #she's a sweetheart #cheese-ception pretends to be a wordsmith

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cubeswhump · 4 years ago

Text

Something Feels Familiar

Levi before he was Levi. If anyone wants to be tagged in Levi fics, let me know.

Warning for institutionalized slavery, abuse, burns, drug abuse, working in retail.

This isn't what I wanted.

What? Where did such a thought come from? What wasn't what 262847 wanted? Maybe he wanted something else when he signed up. Was that it?

No. This was perfect. He wanted this.

He had a comfortable bed. The other boxies never told on him. They got to eat the food that didn't sell and would otherwise be thrown out. But once, a customer was watching videos on her laptop, and 262 snuck glances when possible. There was an ad showing a boxie and its owner, and the owner was so tender and loving. 262 wanted someone to hold his hand, stroke his hair…

He slapped his own face hard. One of the two box babes stared at him.

None of them had actually met their owner, who worked way up in corporate. A huge package deal of several hundred boxies trained to be the perfect employees, several placed at every location in the UK. The managers, -- hired employees rather than pets -- were the ones who kept them in line, and though 262 would snatch up whatever positive attention he could get, it wasn't enough.

Yes it was. He was a pet and he would be happy with whatever he got. He was grateful.

A little voice in his head said it was weird to have a coffee shop boxie. But it made sense, right? His owner was so smart. His owner knew they would save money by having pets rather than employees, as pets could work longer shifts and didn't get paid. Smart.

262 nudged the other boxie at the counter. "861."

"Piss off," the girl mumbled.

"861, what's coffee shop AU? It just popped into my head, and…"

"I don't care. Stop talking to me."

He talked too much. The handlers couldn't beat it out of him, but it suited him well in such a role. The boxies arranged amongst themselves that 262 would always be at the front to deal with customers directly as the others tended to freeze up if a customer went off script and said something they weren't prepared for. 262 even did well dealing with those who hated corporate boxies.

"It's so unfair. They buy a bundle of you freaks and put us all out of jobs!"

And 262's eyebrows would furrow, head tilting to the side. "Gosh, really? Oh no, I'm so sorry."

He'd listen while the customer ranted their heart out, nodding along and sometimes giving shocked apologies. And he'd often sell them a cup of coffee or muffin.

It was one of these interactions. The customer ranted, called him all sorts of names, but eventually wanted a caramel macchiato with no foam. No foam, always no foam. Do they even know what a macchiato is?

He forgot to strain the milk. He took a small spoon and started flinging foam into the sink until 476 told him to "stop being an idiot" and that he was "gonna get us all in trouble."

Good enough. Just thinking those words nearly made him double over at the pain in his head.

There is no such thing as good enough. There is only perfection and failure.

Yet he found himself handing the woman her drink. She pulled the lid off as he turned to the next customer, smiling.

"I said NO FUCKING FOAM!"

The coffee shop blurred. He screamed.

The customer continued to shout. 476 didn't pause from tending to another customer. And fire licked at 262's face. At least, that's how it felt.

Mister Evan, the assistant mansger seemed to appear from nowhere, going "I'm so sorry, Ma'am. 262, stop that blubbering and apologize now. We'll fix that for you."

Within the hour, 262's skin was scarlet, cheek and jaw swelling, right eye unable to open. The tears kept trickling. Evan had him sit out in the employee break room, out of sight. 262 was terrified to step foot in such a place. Boxies don't get breaks. The light overhead flickered. There were no windows. Looking at the posters on the wall made 262's head pound as the letters danced.

A millenia seemed to pass. Then the door opened. Miss Donna, the manager, stood in the doorway and gasped.

"Evan, you didn't tell me tmit was this bad!" she cried.

And that made 262 start crying too.

A heart-sinking to a pet-friendly hospital in Miss Donna's own car. 262 was such a nuisance. She had better things to do.

She sat with him through hours of tests, picked him up the next day when he was discharged, picked up his medicine. Bad pet. Burden.

Second degree burns on more than half his face. Burned cornea and the start of a corneal ulcer. Lid edema, whatever that meant. He had to wear a patch over his eye for two weeks and then they'd know how his vision was affected.

Ointment. Eye drops. Pills. No one told him what they were, just apply ointment three times a day. Apply eye drops five times a day. Take one pill once in the morning and once at night -- Miss Donna changed that to only take it before bed so it doesn't impede on his performance at work. May take over the counter painkillers every 2-4 hours.

He couldn't make out most of the labels. He was pretty sure the ointment was silver something, but the second word was a doozy. But at night, when it was meant to be lights out, he holled up in the bathroom and squinted at the label. The words grew clear: OXYCODONE 20MG.

861 was brushing his teeth. 581 was waiting to use the loo. 262 just wanted them all to go to bed, leave the bathroom to him.

You're meant to take the tablets whole. Don't lick or get wet in any way. don't crush, don't break them or it releases the compound too quickly. He wasn't sure how he knew that.

Everyone was asleep, or pretending to be. 861 definitely was asleep, his snores echoing off the walls. It surprised 262 that they didn't get rid of that in training. But the girls said 262 snores even worse.

He carefully shut the door behind him and got the bottle out of the drawer. He took out one pill, two pills, and set them on the counter. There was a tub of face moisturizer in one of the drawers, as management wants the box babes to stay pretty. He tapped it on the counter, ensuring it was hard plastic and not glass. Then he crushed the pills under it and scraped the dust off.

He smuggled a plastic straw from the shop and cut a small piece from it earlier. At the time, he hadn't known what he was doing, but his body worked on his own accord. The pieces clicked into place. One end went in his good nostril and the powder was sucked through the other end. He closed his eyes in bliss.

Something pushed at the fog in his brain, but he didn't dwell on it. He needed to savor this feeling.

#bbu #whump #box boy whump #coffee shop boxie #pet whump #my writing #male whump #male whumpee #box boy multiverse #box boy universe

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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

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many many anons under the cut bc i didn’t want anyone to feel like i was ignoring them and i wanted to respond to u all! warning for small text too, it was so long i wanted to make it look smaller fgbnjkgkjn

Anonymous asked: NAT... you can write WHATEVER you want! It's your blog, and I hope that rude anons can learn to respect that. I used to be on your blog just for jjba content too, so when you started getting into jjk I was indifferent but eventually you dragged me into jjk so hard!! I already like bnha, so seeing you write for it only made me happier! I hope that you continue to write whatever make YOU happy:) ❤and yes, longer fics certainly doesnt mean it's better, quality over quantity

ahh i’m happy that you are here for all three!! i always feel so accomplished when someone is like ‘your constant screaming made me think about jjk <3′. all three of the fandoms are fairly popular and i tag everything v carefully so i hope people who do use the filtering find that useful!!!

Anonymous asked: Goodness gracious. People really be out there thinking they're entitled to dictating what kind of content you should be making

i think part of it might be that i do take requests so people feel like they have like . . . a certain right to certain kinds of my content? i take requests mostly bc they keep me motivated, i like making content for ppl who cant find what they want bc i’ve Been There, but maybe people think i am a pushover? idk i am just trying to have a good time!!!

Anonymous asked: Hi. I only started following you a few days ago but please ignore that rude anon. People are so fucking entitled towards writers it's insane. I recently had someone throw a fit for "spoiling" something in my fanfic, even though the fic was about a manga-exclusive character, so what did they expect?? Overall I've really enjoyed your writing so random assholes coming to guilt you is just a shitty thing that happens. Keep going with what you wanna do.

ah gosh anon i’m sorry about that :(. i’m always super careful tagging spoilers and stuff but like, if someone clicks on a fic about say, naoya or the steel ball run boys and is mad that i spoil something they havent found out yet . . . yeah thats on them fgbnkjgfkjn

Anonymous asked: That...that anon had the nerve to say "we". The fuck?! No no no anon, YOU'RE the only one talking and you're just talking for yourself, don't you dare try and lump us other anons/followers up with you to make yourself look like you're right. We love you nat and we appreciate you. It's your blog, you're allowed to write about whoever and whatever. This brain dead anon just needs to either go read someone else if they're that salty or write their own stuff if they're that impatient.

gosh i WISH some of my mad anons would just write their own stuff honestly. idk if this anon thought they were talking for everybody but i guess they expected anons to agree with them and not be mad at them. i appreciate u anon ;_;

Anonymous asked: Just want to say that ily and you’re one of the best jojo fanfic writers in my opinion 💗 I don’t think you’re half assing jojo fics and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you being multi fandom. A lot of jojo blogs have started posting about jjk so it’s not as if you’re the only one. I’m not sure why you get hate like this but I think it’s just because you’re one of the popular writers and that makes people bitter for whatever reason. Keep being you and posting about the things that make you happy 💕

honestly after so long writing for jojo - i’ve written well over 200 jojo reader insert fics - sometimes it feels like i’m retreading stuff, and that’s when i take a break bc i dont wanna half-ass stuff!!! i love all of my fellow jojo friends who are posting about jjk too, i appreciate them <3.

Anonymous asked: Hey my dude, ur writing has really grown since the jojo days and its better and awesome seeing u become happier to branch off and write in different fandoms 🤌🤌 those stupid anons are just boring farts that couldnt be bothered making their own content 😤😤 is it possible to block them to ease ur mind?

hello anon!! i run a statcounter for IPs but it doesnt always work for ppl who access through the tumblr app, i don’t think; a lot of the anon hate i get i just use the ‘block’ option, but last night got to me because i’ve been getting that kind of writer a lot which is . . . a bad look for the jojo fandom who are, as a whole from the ones i’ve interacted with, lovely!!! <3

Anonymous asked: People often forget, the person behind art or writing, is just another regular fan. You deserve to be happy with what you create and we should be thankful you share your talent with us. You also have right to change your main interests, and it's very normal thing. Jojo is one of the MANY things that you write for and all you get from that is a like or share. Its not your job. It's your fun thing to do, in spare time. You haven't betrayed anybody. That person was just rude, selfish and bored.

i am just a person doing my best!!! anime fanfic is one of many interests i have and i already devote a lot of time to it honestly, i love when people tell me they’ve enjoyed something i made bc it makes it feel worthwhile but equally it gets to me a lot when people are rude because i am usually trying my hardest.

Anonymous asked: Bro that jjba anon... the entitlement🤮 Fam, you write whatever you want to write😤 -Saturday

dfnjbkjnkgf i find most fic readers are NOT entitled at all and are just grateful but when they are . . . oof.

Anonymous asked: It's funny how people throw "we got you popular" and they think you start apologize and cry. Your writing and passion made you gain few numbers on a follow counter, nothing more. I think I'm too old for stuff like this, we are nothing more, but +1 on a number scale. You ow us nothing, we ow you nothing. Popular... Funny word. You just write for fun of it, fake scenarios about someone's manga characters. It's not that deep. Have fun and don't listen to people like this. I knew it's not that easy, but they are really not that important as they think they are.

extremely fun fact for people who think ‘popularity’ is important to me: i would 100% rather have 10 people who regularly comment, reblog my fics with tags and interact with me than 100 people who read my fic and either leave a like or simply move on. i think this is true for the VAST MAJORITY of writers tbh. i’m glad that people think i am a ‘popular’ blog (i am not in the grand scheme of things, one of my ex-best friends used to run a kpop reader insert blog with like 30,000 followers) bc it gives me an ego boost lmao, but i really just want people to read and enjoy the stuff i write!!!

Anonymous asked: I followed you a while ago for jojo and when my friends started getting into jjk i was like...eh sounds like work...but now that I see you writing for it I feel really motivated to get into it!!! I really enjoy your writing and I want to be able to read the new stuff too!

ah anon i really hope you like it!!! it’s only one season rn if u wanna watch the anime and there isn’t too much of the manga to catch up on either but it is a lot of fun and it’s nice to be in a fandom that’s like, excited about a new chapter and new plot developments every week!

Anonymous asked: Pls dont reply if u dont want to! <3 I'm not sure if this will be of any help to you or not but this is the kind of thing that often helps me and is the only way I know to try comfort others so I wanted to give it a go~

Now im not gonna say 'dont feel bad pls' bc I know that's not really useful but what I do think is useful is just discussing why that anon and many others feel the need to respond that way. As someone who follows a lot of writing blogs myself and have done for a long time, i've seen my handful of favourite writers come and go for different reasons, lose motivation for a while, gain motivation for a while, go from multi to single fandom, or single fandom to multi. Often times as a reader it can be upsetting when things change but it's also important as a reader to understand that some things aren't in anyone's control, I can't control what my favourite writers become a fan of or lose interest of, I can't control things in their personal lives that may motivate or demotivate them to write, but what I can do is support them as long as they're active, and if they move on to do things i'm no longer interested in or i'm the one that changed interests, rather than being upset that they're evolving to do other things or that they're not evolving with me, I think it's important that I still feel thankful for the works that I enjoyed while we were still on the same page and this is how I personally deal with those negative feelings. I think the anons that lash out at you probably just dont know what to do with themselves, maybe they got attached to your works while you were still only a jjba blog and now that you're evolving they're upset, while I understand how they feel, they're going the completely wrong way about it. I've learned to take these things and turn them into something positive for myself or at least something bittersweet that I can move on from but the anons that lash out at you for whatever reason probably haven't learned this yet. Maybe it's because i've moved on and changed interests a lot myself that I know how these things go for both writers and readers but those anons maybe haven't experienced this as much so they dont know what to do with themselves other than complain that you've changed and throw insults at you in an attempt to get you to revert back. None of this is because of the quality of your writing like they want you to believe, it's literally just because you've evolved and while some of your old followers might not like the new content for no reason other than it not being their cup of tea, it's definitely not regressed at all. You are pumping out a lot of content right now but every single thing i've read has just been better than the last. Things that really stand out to me is how well you get characterisation down to a T and all of your dialogue is just on point and from the pov of a reader I think those things seem the hardest to get right so I am such a huge fan of your stuff at the moment and I can tell you're really putting so much thought and care into each and every fic no matter how fast you're producing it, I think the fact that you're also proud of what you're writing at the moment really shines through as well and I just adore the passion that radiates from every completed request as well as in the responses for the subsequent thirsts resulting from these works that appear in your ask box later (I know i've sent quite a few by now~)

Just to be clear i'm not defending those anons in any way, while I can understand what they might be feeling/why they're reacting in the way they are I still believe it's just so immature to be hateful online point blank. Even during a time where I still got upset with writers if they started doing something else I still never targeted that negativity directly to the writer and sending rude or hateful comments whether on anon or not never something i'd stooped low enough to do even when I still had an immature way of thinking, however, I hope that it might make it a little easier to brush them off if we try and understand what they're really upset about, and that they're just putting the blame for their negative feelings onto the wrong thing rather than coming to terms with change themselves.

hello anon!! i appreciate the long message. i do feel bad for people who have no interest in what i’m currently producing and i get that they feel upset about it; i’ve watched a lot of fellow jojo writers move on completely or just stop posting, honestly. this kind of thing is why i was so intense about asking people if it would be better if i made a separate blog but the resounding answer seemed to be ‘i’m just vibing with whatever happens and i’ll block tags as needed’.

i often return to works by my favourite reader-insert writers who no longer write for the fandoms i like (and i read stuff bc it sounds interesting or i trust the person who writes it), but change can be difficult and i guess at this point i’ve - whether u like me or not lmao - been a fixture in jojo reader-insert tumblr for a While so it’s probably kind of jarring.

anyway i really appreciate you and the nice words! <3

Anonymous asked: hi nat! I just wanted to pop in and say that regardless of what fandom you write for, the love and care you pour into your writing and into interacting with followers who care about your work as well is really obvious. you're doing this for FREE and people should appreciate what you've given us so far, since ultimately this blog should be for you, whatever that means to you at any point in time. it's ok to jump fandoms! the important thing is that you feel good about what you're producing and that it makes you happy. everyone else is just a bonus - but, seeing you on my dash certainly makes me happy : ) I hope you feel better soon!

thank you anon! i’m feeling much better and happier today. birthdays are very difficult for me (i did not think i’d be alive at eighteen, much less 25!) so this event is definitely kind of a way for me to concentrate on something else, and i’m a little bit extra sensitive atm. i appreciate you so much, thank you for the kind words!!! <3

Anonymous asked: Hello! I just wanted to say, write what YOU want and make YOUR writings as long as you'd like. 💖 To the anon who is like "We mAdE yOu FaMoUs dOnt HalF asS iT" stfu, let people do what they wanna do. If you think they half do it, write something better and longer you asshat.

this is an open invitiation to that anon to send me a link to their writing blog and i’ll hype them up i promise <3

Anonymous asked: nat i'm so so sorry about that ask please know that your older followers don't share the same opinion :( sometimes people forget about the living, breathing person behind the screen smh. you are not a machine. you absolutely should not restrict yourself to posting about one fandom forever. yes, we're first pulled in by your amazing content, but we stay for your wonderful personality and work ethic. please just keep being you, taking up projects you feel comfy with! <333 bless u

ahh thank u anon! unfortunately i actually am a writing robot, i’m sorry u had to find out this way. my jojo chip has been removed, please send it back so i can continue to not half-ass my jojo work. fgnjkbgjkfn thank you so much angel!!! i appreciate you ;_;.

Anonymous asked: i don’t think it’s fair for other people to say shit about what you choose to write about because on tumblr and other writing platforms, writers are constantly developing how they write and the fandoms that they write for. it’s not fair for someone to criticize that “you don’t care about jjba blah blah blah” because you can enjoy new shows/manga. and like you said you’ve grown so much!! proud of you nat and im glad that ive been able to read your works (sincerely other nat)

i am STILL waiting for you to come and fight me other nat fgnjkbnf. it’s nice to be enjoying different things! i am constantly learning new things and reading new works and making new friends and improving and i think that’s important. i do care about jjba - a lot! but i can care about other things too! <3

Anonymous asked: I may not be one of your oldest followers, but i've been here for almost 3 years. Yes, i started following u for ur jojo content, but let me tell u, ur newfound motivation and enthusiam for other fandoms was honestly contagiuos for me. And i say this as a person who finds very difficult to move from one interest to another. Jojo is great, but so are other fandoms. Please don't let some faceless scum rob u that motivation. This is ur blog and u r always free to write whatever u want.

honestly, i have been there! i am autistic and i have special interests and watching other people move on to stuff i’m not vibing with has made me sad in the past, but i want people to be happy more than anything and sometimes that means new things and change! <3

Anonymous asked: Hi Nat! I saw that rude anon message & I just wanted to pop in & say that they're wrong. You're not betraying anyone & you should write whatever it is you want to write. I followed you for jojo & I'm not familiar with the other fandoms that you write for, but personally it makes me SO happy to see you enjoying new things! It's always good to find joy wherever you can, so keep writing what you're interested in. There a lot of ppl who want to see you happy and healthy <3

honestly the idea of it being a GRAND BETRAYAL is so funny, i am just writing anime fanfic here and thriving!!! tysm anon! <3

Anonymous asked: Those anons can piss off! They have no right to judge how long or how short your writing is. If they want longer content write it their damn selves. I think your writing has improved wonderfully and I originally followed for Jojo and I'm enjoying all the content period. I don't even watch jujutsu ( not my cup of tea personally) but I love seeing the creativity and the interactions. You write what makes you happy Nat and that's on that! You don't owe anybody anything! I know how hard writing is and when your consuming new content it's hard to make content for something else. That doesn't mean you don't like it any more your just doing something different for a while. Love you and your content and I'm enjoying the love your putting into your content whether long or short. ♥♥💕 Sending love your way!

honestly my idea of ‘short content’ is still over 1k words, i’m not good at reeling myself in! i guess it’s bc they see like, 1.5k jojo fic versus 5k jjk fic but it’s not that i didn’t enjoy the first fic, just that the point and the story came a lot quicker and so did the natural end! thank you anon, i appreciate you ;_;

Anonymous asked: Hello! Just wanted to let your know that I think your writing is awesome, and that you should write for whoever and for whatever you want to! You dont have to stay loyal to one fandom or anything, and your followers shouldn't expect that from you! It's not like they are paying you to write, you are doing this for free, and because you enjoy it and it makes you happy! If they dont like your stuff, they dont have to follow you, they can go to other blogs that cater to their taste, and they definitely don't need to be sending you such hurtful comments, and they dont get to make you feel sad about your writing! Just because they followed you during your earlier stages of writing, doesn't mean you owe them some type of loyalty or compensation! You can write literally whatever you want as long as it makes you happy! That's what your hobby and your blog are for! I hope you know that alot of your followers love your work and think that you are an amazing writer and are down to support the work that makes you happiest! 💖💖

ahh thank you so much anon!!! i am always so bowled over by how many people are nice to me when something like this happens, i am sending you my love <3

Anonymous asked: don’t listen to them!! we love you as a writer no matter what you write, because you’re a good person and a talented writer!! you shouldn’t have to change what you write to please a bitter person, and if they only want jjba, they can go to another blog instead of bringing you down. you’re doing amazing and they should be thankful you grace us with your talents!!

to be totally honest, if i was half-assing or not vibing with content i was making i just. wouldn’t post it. like you’d be able to TELL when i was half-assing stuff just to get words out (source: i have re-read my own nanowrimo works). there are lots of great jjba blogs who could do with more followers n interaction!!! i hope they do find them and i hope they’re nice to them :(.

Anonymous asked: Please don’t pay attention to that anon. People only have that confidence when they have anon turned on. Them looking through your blog despite feeling that way is peak fan behavior and speaks to how addicting your writing is. Naturally, you can’t please everyone and there will be people who are irrational and feel entitled to tell you what to do or what to write no matter what. Trust me when I say they’re a small minority and are more likely probably passing viewers rather than regulars. I check your blog about three or more times a day because I love reading not just your fics but also your takes, banter with other anons, or even random updates. Brainrot posts? LOVE TO SEE IT!!! Desk update? AMAZING!!! With that being said, don’t feel pressured to continue pushing out content for others. Write what makes you happy! You’ve been writing for JJBA for 4 years and it’s completely normal + healthy to get into new media. I’m not sure if it would mean much, but your love for JJK has gotten me excited to start it too!!

anon i really hope you enjoy it!!! sometimes these anons remember stuff i’ve posted and said better than i do tbh, i am living in their heads rent free i guess!

Anonymous asked: I've been following you for a couple of years and honestly it would always be a joy to see when you posted. Your writing has improved and I'm very happy you're enjoying yourself ! I know it hurts hearing and seeing stuff like that but I'm happy you're here. I'm honestly blessed everytime you post. Your writing is phenomenal. I love reading it even if its characters that I dont care for. You capture their essences so well and weave an amazing tale within the prompts and whatnot. You're amazing nat!

wehh thank you so much!!! re: the improvement, i really don’t feel like it has and then i re-read something i wrote when i first started and i’m like oh my god maybe it has. did i really write about jotaro acting like that.

Anonymous asked: Hi Nat. I recently became a follower of yours and I'm really saddened to see you get hate. You seem like a genuinely sweet person with amazing talent! I'm a writer myself and, unfortunately, get the same kind of comments. And when you get those comments, it doesn't leave you feeling motivated. People need to understand that people can and will, at times, grow out of fandoms. (1 Not just that but you're doing all of this for free. Again, I'm sorry you got such a comment. But please know that I'm proud of how far you've come. I'm proud that you're living a life that makes you happy. And no matter what fandom you may find yourself in next, I will always enjoy your writing. Take care of yourself. (2 end

HELLO NEW FOLLOWER I LOVE YOU (i get a lot more a day now than i used to and i feel guilty about not being able to look through so many blogs but i do try and follow back other writers for my fandoms!! ;_;). i’m sorry you get the same kind of comments! i’m always just happy to see people i like enjoying new things, even if i have no interest in it (hello to all of my mutuals who write for hunter x hunter and haikyuu, not interested but i’m sure you’re having a great time and i support you!!!).

Anonymous asked: I'm sure you're getting a barrage of supportive messages now (at least I hope so) but I figured I'd add my voice, because I'm a longtime follower. Your writing is, and always has been, wonderful. I've been so happy to see you and Haz get to a place that works for you both. Idk if it's obvious for everyone, but you seem like you're emotionally in a pretty good place most of the time these days, and it makes me really happy to see that. I followed years ago for JJBA content, but I stayed because regardless of what content you put out, I find your wit delightful. And I'll stick around even if you move fandoms entirely, because whatever content or editorializing you produce is going to be worth reading, regardless of what it's for.

ahh, anon!! thank you for sticking around so long, sorry if you’re old enough to have been around the vore and jorts and spider rohan fiascos! <3 i am definitely a lot more stable than i have been and - barring the Pandemic Related Mental Health Issues - happier! i’m glad that it’s noticeable! <3

Anonymous asked: It actually makes me mad how entitled some people are. Nat, you're not a content creating machine and those who expect you to be are not worth wasting a thought on. Your love for something is not measured in word counts and for you to write every day without getting burned out in the slightest you really must have a burning passion and huge dedication to your craft. If others decide to send hate then allow me to send admiration because I can feel your love and hard work in each post you make!

i try and write every day bc it’s super good for my little ocd/autistic brain to have routines and distract itself, so i’m glad other people can enjoy them because that makes me motivated to carry on! like, i write for myself mostly bc the content i want i sometimes get find, but filling requests and writing for other people also leaves me with happy warm fuzzies too! i appreciate you!! <3

Anonymous asked: If people only care about your writing for the jojo porn that’s on THEM, not you. Your writing was amazing when I followed about a year ago, and it’s only gotten better and will continue to get better! I think it really comes through when you enjoy what you’re writing and it adds a whole other layer of worth to it, because not only are you making free content but you LIKE that content and we can all gush about it together!!! More than just fans, I think you’ve created a community here and we don’t just stick around to read smut, I promise you that. -Reronon

i do miss having a discord community bc it was nice to talk to everyone in real time but it was hard work, i am glad that people feel like they can just come into my askbox and gush! i’m not very friendly in real life and people tend to think i am cold and stuck up so i work very hard to try and seem friendly and approachable online, which is much easier for me because i get to think and re-draft before i type! <3

Anonymous asked: Hi Nat! I’m sure you’re getting a lot of messages like this right now but I just wanted to say for what it’s worth that, as a person who originally followed you for jjba content and hasn’t watched/read any of the other series you’re currently writing for, I’m honestly still along for the ride. This is your blog and you’re allowed to do what you want with it and put out what content you feel like writing. Sometimes??? People acquire new interests??????? Shocking! I know absolutely nothing about jjk or bnha but out of curiosity still read some of your posts about them and even though I might not Get It, I still enjoy them because I think you’re a very talented writer! Honestly, as long as you’re still writing, I’m still down to clown, and whenever you take breaks (which are important!) I’ll still be waiting for your return or supporting and respecting your decision to stay away longer. Don’t let the entitled assholes get you down. Utilize YOUR blog and YOUR space however YOU choose. Your talent and kindness speak for themselves. Love you!!! ❤️❤️❤️

anon i care about you and i am so appreciative of you and everyone for sending me such nice messages! i am running out of ways to say it but it’s true, it really does mean a lot to me ;_; <3

#nat.txt

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tinysylveon · 4 years ago

Text

s'cuse me while i complain about the rwby fandom for a bit, and why i p much have refused to fully engage in it since the near beginning and even now. i'm putting this in a read more bc i actually have sanity to put mountain long paragraphs of text under read mores. :^)

those shippers in the rwby fandom really irritate me, because they seem to only pay attention to the shipping and get really angry at the writers for not making their ship "canon" or "interact in a meaningful way". sometimes i'm glad meme-based content creators keep their personal opinions to themselves, because i saw someone say they're "deeply disappointed in the current volume for not providing whiterose content", and honestly being so. and don't even get me STARTED on those fairgame shippers. way to come out as transphobic, basically. harassing a damn trans person like that, saying its all their fault your ship never got water. d e e p s i g h

no, the crwby is not, nor ever entitled to, giving you your ship. you know what actually matters in rwby? the plot. the characters themselves. if you enjoy ships? epic. just don't... harass people. don't go overboard. don't let that ship lead you to despise the show, the creators, or anyone relating to it.

however much i despise only paying attention to the ships, i still do think it's childish and stupid to put your ship hate in the ship tag you're hating. i know you want attention, but there are far healthier ways to do that than purposefully pissing people off by posting "yang/blake is fucking stupid and so are the shippers" or something in the designated tag. yike!!!

shipping is fun, but it's not everything. please exercise common sense, self control, and maturity. i know it's hard, but make an attempt.

sure, you can say it's "horribly/badly written" all damn day, but imo, i still think the writing is ok, because i could see foreshadowing even in the very first volume. now, i've tried my best to find some semblance (lol pun) of information that monty planned a good chunk of rwby, or at least had some plot points written out til the end, but all i can find is "he only planned out to volume/season 5", "volume/season 3", and then apparently "volume/season 10". again, this may mean actual scripts and more, OR just plot points, like a lot of us writers do (ive got a beginning, middle, and end for my story rn, but i only have a bit for the points past what ive already written. fun fun, but i digress. anyways.). so that's... completely all up in the air. what i'm saying is, from what we've gotten past three, and even five, i've enjoyed it a ton! i enjoyed rewatching it! i caught all kinds of small things and foreshadowing and i've enjoyed it a lot. call me easily amused or impressed by "horrible writing" (which... that's all honestly based on opinion at this point.), but fuck it. love this shit.

i can see why people are irritated with shippers. i can definitely see why others have granted a name for the peope who hate the show but still follow it JUST to make steven universe-esque critical posts about it call it the "hatedom" (which obv has been happening before steven's verse but hell it feels and looks so much like it. ya'll.. it's not. that. deep. sometimes.). the rwby fandom is so damn messy and i can see why i've been literally avoiding it for years and just happily watching the show.

this entire thing is def why i've been keeping myself from engaging in it and/or even making any content/side fan accounts for it. it's just... so immaturely messy. a whole mess!!!! a whole mess.

if you want to argue with me: don't. i will ignore you. you're literally part of the problem. if you hate these opinions so much, bro, just block me! it's super easy! a few taps/clicks, and you never have to see me again. wild, i know. i can do the same to you. epic.

have a rad day.

#opinions ahead srry abt tht #rwby #rwby fandom

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bigskydreaming · 4 years ago

Note

That post about "I'll keep reading a fic that mischaracterizes Dick even if it angers me because the plot is interesting" but with Scott McCall. I'll come across genuinely interesting concepts and plots and power through for that even when Scott is portrayed negatively in the story, he's there at least and it's either that or wading through 99% of fic which centers Stiles/Sterek and the most common Scott tag being "Scott's a bad friend" ya know?

Honestly, what is it about Scott McCall and Dick Grayson that gets them (mis)treated so similarly by their respective fandoms?

Oh yeah, definitely. Tbh, part of why I’m so loud and obnoxious in Batfandom is because in TW fandom it eventually got to the point where I just had to stop reading fic completely, because I wasn’t finding anything that was Scott-friendly outside of the handful of writers I was already friends with and I just got fed up. And I’m too stubborn to do the same thing twice in two separate fandoms so I just....refuse to give up on DG fic by way of a rousing morning “Not today Satan” pep talk. fhslakhfkal

But honestly, the parallels, there are more than a few:

1) Obviously I do think the racism element has plenty to do with it. Especially in the way “is Scott really even Latino on the show though, I mean did they ever actually SAY it” arguments could be swapped out almost word for word with the “is Dick really even Romani in the comics though, I mean it was just a retcon” arguments. With the primary aim of arguments against this being a factor focusing on just invalidating the idea that either are characters of color in the first place, rather than examining the way people engage with these characters for signs of racism. Instead of trying to refute that there’s anything wrong with certain ways people interact with these characters, people jump right into “well there can’t be racism if the character in question isn’t even REALLY a character of color, y’know not like, a board-certified one with proper accreditation and everything.”

But its definitely interesting when you look at how Dick Grayson’s been perceived by fandom overall, like, in terms of looking back over the years. As someone who’s been in and out of DC fandoms to various degrees since the late 90s, as in before Dick was retconned as being Romani in the first place, and as I’ve said before, he used to be a LOT more popular and forgiven for stuff in the past in fandom.....like, I maintain that if you look back at the early 2000s-2010, aka when that retcon was not just written, but gradually and more fully spread into the fandom’s overall awareness and perception of the character....you can almost like, SEE the empathy gap suddenly click into place once he was more fully solidified as a character of color in a lot of fans’ minds. Even if they won’t admit it because that would require admitting to the racism that then began to seep into how they interacted with this character now, compared to how they’d interacted with this character in the past.

And I think the empathy gap - and the complete refusal to admit that’s even a thing, because its not like these are REALLY characters of color so why would it even apply - like, I think that goes a long way to explaining the way both Scott and Dick consistently have their traumas invalidated and ignored by large parts of their fandoms, with the focus always being shifted to how bad things that happen to them are really MORE bad for how they affect the people around them, etc.

2) It also I think has a lot to do with their personalities and the archetypes they both embody as empathetic caregiver types. I think I described it pretty well here in my BUABS fic:

“What do you know about Impostor Syndrome?"

"It's a term sometimes used to describe over-achievers who have trouble internalizing their accomplishments. Perfectionists who think they're frauds because they don't know how to take credit for their own achievements and say its because of luck or timing or something other people did," Dick frowned, puzzling through both the question and the aim of it. He raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't sound like something that applies to someone as arrogant as me."

"Don't be a little shit, Dick," Dinah said with small smirk. "And you're right, I don't think any of that applies to you. However, it's also used in another capacity, to describe trauma survivors who are unable to internalize their own trauma. Who deflect from it, or mitigate it, treat it as less than it is on the basis that it wasn't as bad as what's happened to someone else. It's especially common in trauma survivors who are noted for being especially empathetic or who have caregiver personality types. People who are so used to self-identifying as someone whose role or purpose is in helping others, that they find themselves unable to identify as traumatized because it might shift the focus to themselves instead of people they feel need it more. Does that behavior sound a little more familiar?"

(For the record, that fic is set in the YJ universe, not the comics, and I go with the approach that Dick and Bruce have a much better relationship there than they do in the comics, and thus overall Dick’s mental health and self-esteem are better than in the comics, generally speaking. I only mention this as a tangent, but like....I think Impostor Syndrome as an issue for perfectionists and over-achievers with low self-esteem DOES pertain to comic book Dick Grayson as well as its trauma interpretation. But anyway).

But point is, I think that describes both Dick and Scott, and their respective approaches to dealing (or not dealing) with their personal traumas. This isn’t a problem in and of itself, as its a valid survivor reaction and issue plenty of people deal with....the problem lies in the willingness of fans to capitalize on the OPPORTUNITIES this presents, as fans of other characters, to keep the focus trained on the characters around these two, and THEIR issues, even at the expense of these two.

Basically, its not in either of their natures to ASK for help and forcefully DRAG focus and awareness to themselves and their issues, for a number of reasons including the fact that I don’t think either character feels they ‘deserve’ that focus or need that help more than other people need theirs.

And because these characters are the empathetic caregiver archetypes in their respective ensembles, ie the ones who usually take the lead in reaching out to even characters who don’t normally ask for help themselves....there’s often no one else immediately popping up in reader awareness as like, a likely candidate to extend that same awareness and offer of aid to Dick and Scott even without them actually asking for it.

(Which, is a large part of my commitment to the theme “Stop assembling your ensembles with just ONE of each archetype, mix and match more, or like....use more hybrid archetypes so you don’t HAVE this problem, and also, stop limiting characters to JUST their archetypes, three-dimensional people aren’t confined to only acting upon a limited menu of actions and impulses, and neither should three-dimensional characters be.”)

And then of course there’s the additional component, linked to point #1, that a lot of people refuse to write other characters seeing their need for help or support or offering it even when they do see it, simply because like....they don’t WANT these characters to HAVE help or support.

3) The Intelligence Factor - as in, do they really have it? Both Scott McCall and Dick Grayson are repeatedly and consistently established in their respective canons as being extremely intelligent, and no, not JUST in emotional intelligence. I don’t like sounding like I’m undervaluing that particular form of intelligence, I’m just really irritated by the way people go about saying “oh I do admit they have very high emotional intelligence” like they’re throwing them some kind of a bone. LMAO. No. They both have high emotional intelligence, true, but they’re also extremely intelligent across the board in all other ways. Both are excellent strategists, quick-thinking and repeatedly out-maneuvering even other noted strategists, both display a quick grasp of new information and an ability to see how and where and when to PUT that information to use in practical applications, etc. These are not dumb characters, at ALL.

But fandoms have this weird committment to the idea that only the Smartest Person In The Room REALLY matters, and like, there can only be one of those per room, or like, at most two, so that they can be a matched pair and make kissing noises and then very smart babies, or like, they can be the doting (smart) father and his adored (smartest) son, all others can go home now.

Like, no, that’s not how that works. A room full of geniuses does not suddenly become a room full of ONE genius and a bunch of random and irrelevant cuz they’re dumb non-geniuses the second someone deemed King of the Smarties enters the room. That’s not a thing. Stop acting like that’s a thing, fandoms. Nobody’s intelligence is actually threatened by the presence of more than one character with notable intelligence. Also fuck off with the adoration of notable intelligence like people have more value the more decimal points of pi they can recite off the top of their head. That’s not a more evolved human being, that’s just a nerd. Nerds have value but no more than people who like, chose other life pursuits aside from nerddom.

(Not actually intended as a slight against nerds, just for the record. I say that as both a self-described nerd and also a self-loathing nerd and also lol I’m not a nerd. Look, I’m a very nuanced person okay. I put the complex in complex organism).

But the point here is not just that people are weird about there only being one true genius allowed per ensemble, its that people are WEIRD about how in order to ACTUALLY be smart, you need to like.....accurately match the factory specs for “this is how a smart person looks and behaves.”

And Scott and Dick do not look and behave that way. The sheer number of times - and similar ways - people try to completely discredit the idea they have more than one brain cell by pointing to times they’re being INTENTIONALLY goofy and being like “oh yeah, would a smart person do THAT, hmmmm”.....

Its like...yes? LOL. There is no law that says that a smart person can not be a goofball, or that they are no longer smart if they fulfill a certain quota of actions deemed ‘dopey’ by the official arbiters of smartness.

Similarly the way people like to point at stuff like “my mom buys the groceries” when the writers BEHIND the characters were intentionally trying to play up a comedic moment rather than make a sealed declaration of IQ, and be like, “see, would a smart person be THAT dumb, hmmm?”

First of all, yes, even going off the same canon people try and cite as proof Scott and Dick are too dumb to actually be smart.....you can literally find similarly ‘dumb’ moments for every other TW character....the Sheriff expressed incredulity that Stiles didn’t know what a pendant was, and Lydia was like wtf how are you this dumb at Stiles when he asked if she read the movie the Little Mermaid because he didn’t know there was also a book.....Allison made the same mistake about bestiary as Scott did because the writers were so impressed by that joke they literally had to do it twice....and do not get me STARTED on the number of moments I can point to in comics AND movies AND cartoons where everyone from Bruce to Tim to Jason to Damian and more, like, make utter bonehead moves or utter completely bonehead sentences.

Despite what rumors of my being an ancient eldritch being might have some believe, I did not actually know Albert Einstein personally, but I can still with complete confidence say I GUARANTEE that at more than one point in his life, even he did things that might have been pointed at by time-travelers on vacay as evidence that geez, old-timey smart people were really dumb, huh.

And I think we would all agree that Albert Einstein was actually a very smart man.

But yeah, point is, both Scott and Dick are very smart characters who for a lot of reasons - including personal choice, as in, they don’t really see the appeal in conforming to standards of what a smart person is SUPPOSED to be like (especially when those standards have a weird amount in common with tendencies often described as elitist or condescending or like, having or pertaining to the qualities of an asshole) - like, they just don’t typically behave or conduct themselves in ways that match up with a lot of the assumptions people have for what ‘makes’ a genius or what that’s supposed to look or sound like.

And because they don’t SEEM like they’re that smart, a lot of effort then gets put into insisting that they’re definitely not, and they can’t be, because see look how dumb here and here and here.....which then leeches over into other aspects of the characters and their stories and dynamics, and then combines with the issues resulting from Point 1 and Point 2 and probably two more I’m not thinking of at the moment but are definitely there so that by their powers combined.....fandom summons Captain Dumbass to take over most interactions with these particular characters. And thus repeatedly and insistently engages with these two and their stories only in very dumb, very limited, and VERY annoying ways.

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

Text

Only the Light: Ch. 9

Back in DC, Missy helps Scully get to the bottom of what's plaguing her. As Scully's journey gets a bit clearer, Missy drops a bombshell about her own life.

---------------------------

Scully’s stomach clenches as the plane touches down on the runway, jostling she and the rest of the passengers around like pawns in its game. Only forty-eight hours ago, she and Mulder had lifted off toward another mystery, another puzzle daring them to solve it. Now she is back, knowing scarcely more than she did then, with a mystery of her own to solve. She is forever chasing ghosts, and trying not to become one.

As the winged giant rolls into its gate, Scully glances out the window. Thick clouds blanket the sky, an unending greyness rolling out over the city as far as the eye can see. So much for there’s no place like home. She’s been realizing lately that home is a feeling, not a location. Sometimes she feels like she needs a map to navigate her own apartment, or like everyone in DC knows some language she never learned. Well, almost everyone. There are a couple people who speak the same language as her.

And she’s about to see one of them now. The crowd of passengers--mostly suits who had sleepless nights-- stand up in their rows, ready to file out into the bureaucratic machine. The man on the outside of Scully’s row opens the overhead compartment and pulls down his bag and the carry-ons of Scully and the woman next to her. Scully thanks him demurely. She can’t remember the last time someone other than Mulder did that for her.

As they fall into line and shuffle off the plane, Scully wonders what her life will look like next time she boards a plane. With any luck, this will all be a fluke and she’ll be heading back to Aubrey tomorrow. Then again, even if it isn’t a fluke, she’ll still probably join Mulder back in Aubrey. She knows herself.

What would she say to him, then? Having to admit she lied about her reason for leaving, coming back with the type of news that turns worlds upside down...it doesn’t seem fair to him. It hasn’t been fair to her either, but that’s out of her hands.

She had knocked on Mulder’s door before the sun was even up. She hadn’t expected him to be awake, and so was particularly surprised when he came to the door with a towel around his waist. Evidently, he hadn’t expected her either (though who else is coming to his motel door at 6am?) because the longer she stood there in front of his barely dressed body, the more his color drained away.

Needing a lie lame enough to be true, Scully told him that Melissa had sprained her ankle and would need some help getting around for a couple days.That she asked Scully to come home rather than go stay with their mother, because who better to be nursed by than a doctor? Mulder had nodded, told Scully to go, assured her he could handle BJ and the case. Scully is sure that Mulder knows what she told him is a lie. But he didn’t object, and that’s the permission she needed to feel settled with him and herself.

She follows everyone off the plane, through the tunnel, and into the terminal. Moments like this remind her of her obsolescence in the universe, and she is somehow comforted by that. She is no chosen one, no messiah nor martyr, no mother of a holy child. She would like to stay that way.

She surveys the crowd waiting to pick up their beloved passengers. All of her fellow fliers, mere faces in her vicinity for an hour or two, are someone to somebody else. She is, too. They are all emerging from obscurity into a realm where they are known, for better or for worse.

At the edge of the crowd, Scully catches her sister’s unmistakable smile and glowing red locks. She saw her sister only two mornings before, but Missy reacts as if they’ve been separated a lifetime. She engulfs Scully in a hug that just about sends the butterflies in her stomach into hibernation.

“How are you feeling?” Missy asks, pulling away to scan her sister’s face for the honest answer she won’t give.

Aware of this, Scully turns the corners of her mouth up. “I’m okay, really. My migraine went away at about four in the morning.”

“So you barely slept,” Missy interjects.

Scully frowns. “Well, I laid in bed from roughly eight to six. There was sleeping involved at some point, I think.”

“How about on the plane? Did you sleep there?”

“No, you know I can never sleep with strangers around.”

“Oh, right. Did they teach you that at the Academy or something?”

“The things I saw at the Academy taught me that.”

“Oh.” Missy regrets bringing it up. As they head toward the luggage area, she holds out her hand, lets her sister place the handle of her carry-on in it. A silent apology, an acknowledged acceptance.

“So what did you end up telling Mulder?”

Scully is endeared that she has successfully chipped away at her sister’s tendency to call him by his first name.

“Oh god, you’re gonna think it’s so stupid.”

Missy laughs. “What did you say?”

Scully’s voice is rife with amusement. “I told him that you sprained your ankle and needed a doctor around to take care of you.”

Melissa bursts into laughter. “Good girl.” Scully would kick a man in the groin if he ever said that to her, but coming from her sister, it’s high praise.

----------------

They ignore the elephant in the room until they make it to Missy’s car. The plastic of a CVS bag rustles at Scully’s feet as she settles into the passenger seat.

“Three pregnancy tests,” Melissa explains. “I stopped on the way.”

“You didn’t have to--”

“But I did.” That had been their father’s comeback whenever someone tried to, as he called it, ‘pity the helper.’ They both smile just a bit, their memory of him alive and well.

“Can I pay you back?”

“No!” Missy insists. “I’m living with you rent free.”

Scully decides this is a good enough reason to let it go. She crosses her legs, watches her sister pull out of the space. She lets a question float around her head until they make it out of the labyrinth of airport side roads.

“Do you think I would be a good mother?”

Missy flicks her gaze toward her sister. Dana is peculiar in her way. Instead of fishing for sympathy like most people when they ask questions of this nature, she expects punishment. She’s practically asking to have a nail hammered into her cross.

“You’d be a wonderful mother, Dana,” Missy soothes. “You’ve never had a bad intention in your life.”

“Haven’t I?...I killed a snake with Bill and Charlie once.”

“And you cried afterward. I remember seeing the tear stains on your face when you got home. Not to mention that you were what, five or six?”

“Well, what about Daniel? Surely my judgement was wrong there.”

Melissa sighs. “Okay, I’ll rephrase it. Any bad intention you’ve ever had was paid for with regret, and that’s not true about most people.” She frowns. “It’s always the purest souls who are the hardest on themselves.”

Scully stares through the windshield. She will expend no brainpower on her sister’s implication. She doesn’t believe it to be true.

After a moment--“Do you remember those Raggedy Ann dolls we had, Betsy and Betty?”

Melissa smiles, nods. “Of course. Betsy was yours, and Betty was mine. We had those little wooden bassinets for them.”

“Right.”

Missy lets the memories flow back to her. “We used to sing lullabies and rock them to sleep. Actually, I’d sing, you’d pray with them. Mom and dad thought it was the sweetest thing ever, and I would get so mad at you. I thought you were sucking up to them.”

Scully laughs. This is the first time she’s heard of her sister’s woes. “Missy, I was three. There was no conspiring going on.”

“Say what you will, but your stocking was always a little bit fuller than mine.” She smirks at her sister, who blushes and looks at her lap.

Dana has the unfortunate distinction, at least in Melissa’s mind, of being the favorite daughter. Bill Jr. always was and will be the favorite child. He molded to all their parent’s expectations of him, never deviating from the upstanding family man they imagined when holding him for the first time. Dana had done well up until she decided on the Academy. As Missy reminded her countless times, it wasn’t that they hated her going into the FBI. It just wasn’t in their vision for her, that’s all.

Missy doesn’t fret about her place, even finds it somewhat funny. She isn’t the least favorite child per say (thanks Charlie!) but she is the least favorite child her mother is still in contact with, and that’s a title that takes some maneuvering.

Scully laces her fingers together, rests them in her lap. “Do you remember telling me that I wasn’t a good mommy one night when we were putting Betsy and Betty to sleep?”

Melissa looks to her sister so quickly she practically forgets she needs to be watching the road. “No, of course not.”

Scully can’t meet her gaze. “Well, I know it’s a silly thing, and we were just children, but it’s stayed stuck in my brain for all these years.”

“Dana, you had probably just finished a ‘now I lay me down to sleep’ prayer, and I felt like I needed to knock you down a notch.” She pats her sister’s shoulder. “There was no truth in it, and I’m sorry it’s bugged you for so long.”

Scully shifts in her seat. The CVS bag crackles as her heels bear down on it. “I’m afraid it’s turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy at this point.”

Melissa won’t give weight to her sister’s worries, but won’t discount them either. “The good news about a self-fulfilling prophecy is that you can always change your thinking...You don’t believe in psychics, so don’t try to be one.”

Scully looks at the dashboard, then her sister. “I would hug you right now if we weren’t doing 75,” she coos.

Something has clicked in her head, some comfort she has long been depriving herself of. Sometimes words fill in the cracks left by those that preceded them. The right words go even further, it turns out. The right words give you permission to heal.

-----------------

A dreadful anticipation plagues her as she and Missy walk up to the apartment. She wants to get it over with, even if it goes badly (and she knows it very well might). She craves the relief of surviving such an ordeal. Scully imagines that this is what the French must have felt on their walk to the guillotine. Except instead of the relief of surviving, they got the release of death. Scully is not ready for this yet.

Missy unlocks the door, ushers her sister in. Dana is not used to coming home and finding things in different places than before, Missy can tell from the inquisitive look on her face. She is surveying her territory, updating her memory bank. Looking for the exit signs, maybe.

Melissa closes and locks the door. Letting her sister set the pace, she leaves the CVS bag on the side table. Dana has already taken the carry-on and suitcase to her room.

Her room, Scully finds, is a shrine to sameness, everything looking exactly as she left it two days before. Untouched and completely under her control...these are the reassurances she requires now. She lifts the suitcase onto her bed but leaves it zipped. Its fate is no clearer than hers at the moment. Then she places the carry-on on her dresser, makes a mental note to let Mulder know she made it home safely, and returns to her sister in the living room.

“Have you eaten?’ Missy asks, edging toward the kitchen.

“I won’t be able to until we get this over with,” Scully replies, making her priorities clear.

“Okay.” Missy won’t fight her on this one. She retrieves the bag off the side table, perches at her sister’s side. “Are you ready now?”

Scully screws up her face. “No, but yes. I just need to know at this point.”

Missy takes her sister’s hand with a specific kind of gentleness, like a fairy godmother about to cast a spell upon her princess. Scully is willing to be led. She follows her sister into the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet while Missy pulls the pregnancy tests from the bag. Scully tries not to think about any moment beyond the current one as her sister opens each test, lines them up along the counter.

“Do you want me in here or outside?” Missy’s tone matches the sympathy that Scully needs.

“Outside, please,” Scully says sheepishly, wishing she could have some guts for once. If no one else witnesses this moment, then maybe it’s not happening. Flawed reasoning that even Mulder wouldn’t agree with, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Okay. I’ll be right on the other side of the door.”

Scully nods her thanks as Missy slips out of the bathroom and shuts the door quietly. Left alone, she feels the crushing gravity that has been trailing her all along. She’s almost certain that her heartbeat would be visible through her skin if she looked.

She stands, picks up the first test, opens the toilet. Her hands shake so violently that she thinks she might drop the stick in the toilet, which would be a pretty terrible way to return her sister’s kindness. She pulls it away and takes a deep breath to steady herself, holding her arms out in front of her like a sleepwalker. All the things she’s seen, and she’s never been as scared as this moment. Never felt the life she knows and has grown to love so acutely threatened. Never balked at the future in such a fervent way.

It occurs to her that she might seriously need her sister to come in and help her. The thought of that is just pathetic enough to kick her into action. Her hands are barely any more steady than before, but her resolve is ironclad.

On the other side of the door, Melissa listens as a long period of silence is broken. She’s sitting down, her head resting against the wood, a hand laid against the door like it’s the chest of a lover.

Silence again, ruptured by Scully’s quiet murmur. “Will you hold on to the test, please? And read the result when it’s ready?” She didn’t know she would need this, but she does.

“Of course.”

Scully cracks open the door, passes the stick to her sister. “I wiped it off.”

Missy suppresses a laugh. “I wouldn’t care if you didn’t, but thank you.”

Scully closes the door quickly, not wanting to hold eye contact with her sister, not wanting to accidentally see the result herself. “Two minutes, right?” Her voice is on the verge of breaking.

“Yes, Dana. Two minutes.”

“Should I wait to do the next one?”

Missy eyes the test, waiting for it to make up its mind. “You can go ahead. It’ll take two minutes too.”

“Okay.” Scully’s voice is barely audible.

“Or you can wait,” Missy offers. “I just suspect that you’d want to check the accuracy as soon as possible.”

“Uh-huh.” She grabs the second test, wearily sits back down.

Missy’s voice reverberates through the door. “I’ve done this before you know. For myself and for a friend.”

“Really?” Scully’s brain had tricked herself into thinking she was all alone.

“Mm-hm,” Missy confirms. “Mine were never positive, but hers were. I went to Planned Parenthood with her.”

“Oh.” There are things, Scully realizes, that she has neglected to think about. Or maybe she’s putting that off until she knows for sure. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more of an act of self-preservation. Her gut feeling is that she wouldn’t, but she never envisioned herself in a situation like this. If there’s any situation where it’s justified, it’s this, right? Not that she has a problem with it; women should be able to choose for themselves. She just always thought she knew what her choice would be.

Melissa lifts her eyes from her watch, looks at the door as if she can see her sister through it. “It’s ready.”

“It’s been two minutes?” Scully’s voice rises.

“Uh-huh. Do you want me to come in or…?”

Scully scrambles up, lays the second test on a fresh piece of toilet paper. “I’ll come to you.”

She opens the door, kneels to be eye level with her sister. Prayer position is in close proximity. She bites her lip, her dilated pupils begging her sister to either curse her or free her.

A thin smile appears on Missy’s face as she flips the test so that Scully can read it. “Negative.”

One line. One very defined red line set against the white space. Has anyone, Scully wonders, ever gotten a tattoo of that?

“I--” Tears burst out of her instead of words. She lands in her sister’s arms, utterly unsure of what she’s feeling. Relief, yes. Happiness? Not quite. Sadness? Something like that.

Missy smooths her sister’s hair down, holds her in the tightest hug she’s probably had in decades. “How do you feel?”

Scully is tempted to ask how her sister does that, always there with the tough questions. Instead, she gulps air until she’s calmed down enough to talk.

“I don’t know,” she laments, tears streaked down her reddened face. “I thought I would be glad but...I just feel numb. Like I went down the wrong fork in the road and missed something important, but I don’t even know what it is since it didn’t happen.” She sniffles. It sounds like a heart breaking. “I just know it’s supposed to be there.”

“I thought you didn’t want--”

“Not under these circumstances, no. But then...when else is it gonna happen?” Her voice is a sheet of glass. “Because it doesn’t look like any time soon.”

Missy hugs her once again, rocking her back and forth. She overflows with warmth, sympathy, and love. “Honey, you have plenty of time to make your life what you want it to be.”

Scully sobs into her sister’s neck. She feels like an emotional hemophiliac, constantly hemorrhaging pain. Every time she thinks she’s bottomed out, there’s farther to fall. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she says, wiping her face. “I didn’t know I would be.”

Missy pulls her in a third time. “Don’t ever apologize to me for anything, even the things you’re actually wrong about.”

Scully laughs half-heartedly. “Oh!” She realizes then. “We still have two more tests, don’t we?”

Missy nods, smiles empathetically. “The second one should be ready by now.”

Scully is about to get up, but Missy lays a hand on her back, beats her to it. “I’ll grab it.” She strides into the bathroom, picks the stick up off the counter, and takes a look. Again, she flips it so her sister can see. “Negative.”

Scully presses her lips together, a stopgap to any further emotional reaction. “We should do the third one then, just to be sure?”

Missy detects a lift in her sister’s voice, a space she’s made for hope. “Whatever you’d like, Dana.” It seems that her sister will always end up disappointed through no fault of her own, no matter what she wishes for. This chills Missy to the bone.

---------------

The sisters share dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets for lunch because this is the kind of food Melissa buys when left to her own devices. Missy dunks hers in honey mustard, Scully takes hers plain. Remnants of anxiety hang in the air; Scully’s plight remains unresolved, and they are well aware of that. Whatever path they are walking, this is just the beginning.

The phone interrupts their silent reverie, and Scully hops up to disguise the fact that its ringing made her jump. “It’s probably Mulder,” she tells her sister. “I meant to call him when we got home.” Missy nods, continues with her nuggets.

Scully grabs the phone off the wall. “Hello?”

“Hey, is Mel there?” It’s a sweet, flowery voice, very different from the one Scully expected. She furrows her brow. Could Mel refer to her sister? She’s never heard anyone call Melissa that. “Who is this?” Missy looks up, watches her sister curiously. It’s not Mulder, evidently.

The woman on the other line clears her throat. “It’s Trinity. Am I speaking to Dana?”

“Yes, this is Dana,” Scully says slowly, unnerved by the caller knowing her name. “Are you calling for Melissa?” Scully offers, hoping she might get out of this scot-free.

Hearing this, Missy wipes her hands on a napkin, gets up, and rushes toward Scully, holding her hand out for the phone.

Scully ignores her, keeps the phone to her own ear as the caller speaks to her. “I am, but I was actually wondering about you. Mel told me your worries. How are you doing, Dana?”

Scully is now particularly spooked. Who is this woman, and why does she know all of her business? Missy pokes Scully in the bicep, then gestures for the phone. Scully hasn’t seen her sister this greedily desperate since she snuck out the window when she was seventeen and needed Scully to unlock the front door so she could get back in before their parents woke up.

“Um, Trinity is it, Missy--Mel wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay! It was nice to finally meet you!” the cheery voice practically sings. Scully just nods and makes her usual ‘Mulder you’re crazy face’ as she hands the phone off to her sister.

“Hi, Trin.” Missy speaks in a rush. “I can’t really talk right now, but Dana is home and all the tests were negative so she’s doing okay. I’ll call you tonight, alright?”

Scully can hear the voice on the other line, but she can’t make it out. Her sister says “I love you, bye” into the phone, then hangs up.

Scully raises an eyebrow, feeling it her duty as the little sister to pry. “Who was that…?”

Missy puts the phone back on the wall, circles around to her plate, sits down. She answers calmly, casually. “That’s Trinity. She lives in Portland, we used to waitress together.”

Scully slides back into the seat across from her sister. “How come you’ve never mentioned her? She seems to know a lot about me.”

“Well, you’re the reason I moved to DC and all.”

“I didn’t know you were still in contact with anyone from the West Coast.” Scully picks a stray crumb off one of her nuggets, thankful that her sister is in the line of questioning for a change.

“I bounced around the area for three years, of course I have friends from there.” She grabs her own empty paper plate, points to her sister’s. “Are you done?”

Scully pushes the plate--with two uneaten chicken nuggets--toward Missy. “With the food, yes. Not with the questions.”

Melissa takes both of the plates to the trash, then rinses her hands in the sink. “Yes. Does that answer your question?”

“Depends. What do you think my question is?”

Missy dries her hands on the dish towel, swivels to face her sister. “Is Trinity my girlfriend? Because yes, she is.”

Scully’s mouth drops open the slightest bit. She had known Missy was bi, but she had never met any of her girlfriends, not even in passing. Missy tended to keep them to herself, fearing that the Scully family might encroach on the holy ground she created. “Really?” she asks excitedly.

“Uh-huh.” Missy sits back down at the table. “For nine months now.”

“Are you serious? That’s incredible, Missy! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Missy just raises her eyebrow. Scully feels like she’s looking in a mirror. “What? You know it doesn’t bother me.”

“Sure, but mom, and Bill…”

“I don’t think that mom would be upset by it,” Scully answers level-headedly. “Surprised maybe, but not mad.”

Missy balls up a napkin, tosses it back and forth between her own hands. “I don’t know that she would be, I just...don’t trust that she wouldn’t. And besides, nothing mom says or does will change how I feel about Trinity. So it’s not really a pressing issue. No need to cause a scene.”

“I can’t believe you moved here without mentioning her. I wouldn’t have let you leave her, you know.”

Missy laughs. “Oh, I do. That’s why I didn’t say a word.” Scully’s laugh is her first genuine one all day.

“She seems very nice,” Scully says, flicking a crumb off the table.

“Oh no, she’s a total bitch,” Missy replies. There’s a moment of silence while Scully figures out that was a joke, then they both laugh.

“Just kidding. I love her very much.” Missy’s smile could melt ice. “I’m glad you got to talk to her. Now my two favorite ladies have technically met!”

“I’m afraid to ask whether I’m in first or second place.”

Missy reaches out across the table. “I moved across the country for you, honey.” Then, with a smirk--”But I could move back any day now, so watch out!”

Scully smiles, nods. She can’t imagine what these past few weeks would have been like without her sister near. She hopes Missy never goes away again, as unrealistic a thought as it is. If there are angels on Earth, her sister is one. But Mulder too has emerged as a force in her life; no one destabilized her life quite like him, but he would be her rock if she let him, she knows this. She owes him a call. She knows that too.

#i think this is the best part so far #it's angsty as helllllllll #and two big reveals!!#the x-files #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #txf fanfic #txf #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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merryfortune · 3 years ago

Text

eggshells

Un-Love You Challenge: Day 20. I hate you, you bitch.

Ship: Asuka/Yuriko

Fandom: Tropical Rouge PreCure

Word Count: 1.9k

Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Inspired by Revolutionary Girl Utena, Minor Animal death

Synopsis: Shrodinger’s bird is both dead and alive depending on whether its eggshell is broken. Asuka and Yuriko both wish that the bird is dead.

AN: As soon as I saw these two interact, I was instantly reminded of Juri and Shiori from RGU so I wanted to write a fic inspired by that.

The first omen that their relationship was about to be broken beyond all repair was when the fleur-de-lis locket that Asuka had gotten for Yuriko broke. It came off the hinges unexpectedly with no forewarning. Through sheer force of will, Asuka had gotten it to click back into place but it was lopsided and as it was lopsided, Yuriko had little desire to wear it anymore. It sat awkwardly between her clavicles in a way it had never before.

Especially not in the way Asuka had first adorned Yuriko with it. That moment of repose, in between torn gift wrapping and the intimacy, had meant a lot to them both. Asuka was delicate as the silver chain slipped into place against Yuriko’s skin. As she did so, she regaled an old wives’ tale that Yuriko hadn’t heard before about misplaced locks, whenever they went askew it meant someone was thinking of you and in the essence of that moment, Yuriko couldn’t help but sense that all Asuka was thinking about was her but… Yuriko was aware of other’s thoughts, too, as she was so damnably perceptive.

The second omen that their relationship was about to be wounded beyond all healing was when that little black and brown sparrow had flown into the window and didn’t get up afterwards. Asuka had wanted to help it; Yuriko had wanted to allow nature to take its course.

They had been standing around the tennis club’s hangout, where they stored their sports gear and such, arguing or trying not to argue as they rallied around the obvious issue in the clubroom when they had heard the smack against the glass. Both had rushed outside as soon as it had happened, expecting a tennis ball. Not a bird. With Asuka taking it in her hands, against Yuriko’s harsh fussing, it was already too late. The skull was cracked, as was its beak and so all it could do was twitch in her hand with some imitation of life. Asuka’s expression was grim; Yuriko’s wasn’t even smug. Neither noticed the other, just assuming the other’s reaction.

The third omen was that they couldn’t even look at one another. Things had become awkward. Stiff. They both knew they were headed for a brick wall but they were trying to overcome it anyway. Going through, going over, going under. Whatever it took but it was slowing down their game. They couldn’t win together as doubles with this hindered team work but they couldn’t even win either way if they were to go out as doubles. The other members of the tennis club could tell something had happened to them. Or, at the very least, something was happening between them.

There wasn’t a fourth omen because the fourth unusual event was the end of it all. Their friendship, their love, their whatever their relationship was as more than just partners in tennis but a whole lot less than partners than lovers. After all, things tend to end at four.

Sometimes, they even died at four.

Unfortunately for Asuka and Yuriko, no matter how they wished for it, what they had didn’t die. And neither of them were the type to simply keel over and expire with their hearts in agony. So, what happened instead was some necrotic deterioration of their relationship and everything else in the way was mere canon fodder for what happened. Yuriko retreated to her own camp, finding a new tribe amongst the folk on the student representative council, and Asuka retreated to one at all, instead choosing to lick her wounds in private.

Or at least that’s what Asuka had wanted to do. She wanted to sculpt herself as the cool girl. The loner. The girl who didn’t need anyone at all, even though it was no secret that doubles tennis was her passion - and so was any video game with co-op play, be it through multi-player or even A.I. controlled characters. And for a while it worked, she would hide out behind the school’s gymnasium or in the toilets, pretending she didn’t exist for the most part until she hit a collision with someone who was like the striking of the summer sun.

Natsuumi Manatsu. What a girl. She was bright, bubbly, and she had an actual living mermaid living in some sort of watery genie bottle she kept in her bag - and that was to say nothing of what she could do with the ring on her finger. A ring which would soon have a sister which was gifted for Asuka and thus, Cure Flamingo was born and so was the Tropical Club and all aspirations and illusions that Asuka had of being of being a lone wolf were shattered because deep down, she liked to keep a flock of birds.

Club President Takizawa Asuka did have a good sound to it, even if it really ought to be Manatsu. She was the central and driving force who had connected together a handful of scattered students who wouldn’t have interacted otherwise but no, no, she had humbly given up the role for Asuka. Seeing something in those bright eyes of her’s that Asuka didn’t even see in herself.

She was thankful but it was unfortunate but she supposed her underclassmen were cute enough so she’d do anything to protect them. Beat up bullies, beat up underwater bad guys, and of course put herself in the crosshairs time and time again of the worst of the worst: young ladies like Kakuta Masami and, of course, Shiratori Yuriko.

For so long, Asuka had managed to avoid the hawk-eyed ire of the council president. She hadn’t escaped it completely but she had minimised it but thanks to the Tropical Club, Asuka was once again the subject of that cold, hardened gaze. When it could be sustained at least.

No matter the lecture, it did become apparent here and there within Yuriko’s behaviour that she was avoiding Asuka’s own, fierce gaze. She had all the power of fluttering wings and mermaid magic, she could handle one ex...something. Friend, girlfriend, partner. It didn’t matter; it hadn’t mattered because they felt like it would last forever so there was no need to label it. What rot that was. Now look at them. Going to war each time they gimpsed one another. Asuka could handle how Yuriko’s avian, yellow eyes slitted around her and how she had mastered the effect of looking closely, directly whilst actually not.

And so began their newest foray into being foes. The battleground might have changed but the battle itself hadn’t. The to and fro was far too familiar to them both as tennis pros. The rally and the volley. It was all the same to them: all a racket. Thus leading to their latest confrontation in Yuriko’s council room.

When it was all to themselves, like right now, they were free to get as downright nasty as they pleased: even if it was under the veneer of rather hushed voices. As much as they wanted to squawk at each other like duelling carrion birds, this was still a school so they had to keep their composure and their voices down. Besides, there were plenty more ways to pierce than just being ear-piercingly shrill in their voices.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Asuka insisted brusquely, “random inventory checks by the Disciplinary Committee aren’t so random if they’re only being held on the Tropical Club.”

Yuriko shrugged, her face just a degree off from fully facing Asuka, her arms were folded in front of her, “I do not control the personal actions and decisions of Kakuta-san,” Yuriko murmured, “I merely suggest that the time is right at pure arbitrary of my own whims as they come and go between the paperwork and other scheduling that I do.”

The dangling of the conspiracy infuriated Asuka. She growled, her hand balling into a fist by her side and in the thick of that raw noise in her throat, she hissed, “I hate you, you bitch.” Asuka knew she was right and Yuriko knew it too but was keeping it so locked and guarded and yet so out in the open just to bait Asuka. The rage that it caused seeped through and made Asuka seem redder - and madder - than her hair.

“I hate you, too.” Yuriko smiled, oh so pleasant, her eyes crinkling in the corner with genuine joy.

Asuka gritted her teeth and she stormed forward. She grabbed Yuriko by the lapels and shook her. Yuriko went prone with the roughness, seemingly not caring one bit at how Asuka had accosted her. Her whole body was limp, without worry, without so much as a glimmer of harshness in her eyes as they were far, far away from this brutish conversation.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Asuka growled. “Target me all you want, I don’t care, I can take it but leave the other girls out of it. The Tropical Club has nothing to do with us-”

A glint of silver caught Asuka’s eye and just that tiny flash was enough to halt her tirade completely. All her anger ceased in her mouth as she was so stunned by what she saw on the pale of Yuriko’s skin. It slinked and slithered on her clavicles, mostly hidden by the turquoise of her flapping collar: the locket.

“Y-You're still wearing it?” Asuka asked and she let go of Yuriko gingerly.

She huffed, sorted herself out and Asuka noticed that the clasp was askew. Right by her pencil-thin neck, right where Asuka had always dreamed to leave a bruise: be it from love or from wrath, it mattered not. Especially now that Yuriko had gone and fixed it up, moving the clasp to the back of her neck, the locket moving beneath the white of her sailor shirt.

Yuriko bore an enigmatic expression as she looked up, done with her fussing. It was distant and playful. And she reached out to Asuka, shocking her with the seeming kindness in her fingertips as they brushed past her temples, caressing her. Asuka winced and she was blinded. Yuriko’s fingers cupped her face in a way so that all she could see - and feel - was her hands. Her soft, supple hands and the spritz of a maturely scented perfume on her wrist. Asuka’s heart skipped a beat.

Yuriko kissed her. It was a kiss that was like dry ice to Asuka’s searing mouth. It was a cold, clinical kiss that was fit to leave a blister on Asuka’s skin. She tried not to kiss back but all her soul wanted to. She had yearned to kiss Yuriko for so long, so why did this have to be the circumstance? When a kiss was not a kiss but a way in which to kill instead.

Especially… Especially knowing the last time that Asuka could recall before this incident wherein she and Yuriko had locked eyes, firmly and strongly, for the last time. The event which had been foretold by the various omens of things breaking apart, getting wounded, and even dying. When Asuka had seen Yuriko kissing someone else through the crack of an ajar door at the tennis club room. The memory and recollection made Asuka sick and to think of it now, at such a pertinent moment, sullied the seconds that Yuriko spended on her, kissing her with such stringent luxury that it was calculated to the edge of her sigh on her sharp mouth.

But in the darkness of her hands, that’s all Asuka could see and it all but killed her. She wished that it killed her.

#femslash #asuka x yuriko #yuriko x asuka #tropical rouge precure #precure #tropical rouge #cure flamingo #takizawa asuka #asuka takizawa #yuriko shiratori #shiratori yuriko #unlove you challenge #writing tag

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